m  f. 


University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


J        7f> 


OUE    NIG; 


OB, 


IN   A   TWO-STORY   WHITE   HOUSE,   NORTH. 


SHOWING  THAT  SLAVERY'S  SHADOWS  EALL  EVEN  THERE. 


BY    "OUR    NIG." 


"  I  know 

That  care  has  iron  crowns  for  many  brows; 
That  Calvaries  are  everywhere,  whereon 
Virtue  is  crucified,  and  nails  and  spears 
Draw  guiltless  blood;  that  sorrow  sits  and  drinks 
At  sweetest  hearts,  till  all  their  life  is  dry; 
That  gentle  spirits  on  the  rack  of  pain 
Grow  faint  or  fierce,  and  pray  and  curse  by  turns  ; 
That  hell's  temptations,  clad  in  heavenly  guise 
And  armed  with  might,  lie  evermore  in  wait 
Along  life's  path,  giving  assault  to  all."  —  HOLLAND. 


BOSTON: 

PRINTED    BY    GEO.    C.  RAND    &    AVERY 
1859. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  In  the  year  1859, 

BY    MES.    H.    E.    WILSON, 
In  the  Clerk's  office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


PREFACE. 


IN  offering  to  the  public  the  following  pages,  the  writer 
confesses  her  inability  to  minister  to  the  refined  and  culti 
vated,  the  pleasure  supplied  by  abler  pens.  It  is  not  for 
such  these  crude  narrations  appear.  Deserted  by  kindred, 
disabled  by  failing  health,  I  am  forced  to  some  experiment 
which  shall  aid  me  in  maintaining  myself  and  child  with 
out  extinguishing  this  feeble  life.  I  would  not  from  these 
motives  even  palliate  slavery  at  the  South,  by  disclosures 
of  its  appurtenances  North.  My  mistress  was  wholly 
imbued  with  southern  principles.  I  do  not  pretend  to 
divulge  every  transaction  in  my  own  life,  which  the 
unprejudiced  would  declare  unfavorable  in  comparison 
with  treatment  of  legal  bondmen;  I  have  purposely 
omitted  what  would  most  provoke  shame  in  our  good 
anti-slavery  friends  at  home. 

My  humble  position  and  frank  confession  of  errors 
will,  I  hope,  shield  me  from  severe  criticism.  Indeed, 
defects  are  so  apparent  it  requires  no  skilful  hand  to 
expose  them. 

I  sincerely  appeal  to  my  colored  brethren  universally 
for  patronage,  hoping  they  will  not  condemn  this  attempt 
of  their  sister  to  be  erudite,  but  rally  around  me  a  faithful 
band  of  supporters  and  defenders. 

H.  E.  W. 


OUR    NIG. 


CHAPTEE  I. 

MAG    SMITH,     MY    MOTHER. 

Oh,  Grief  beyond  all  other  griefs,  when  fate 
First  leaves  the  young  heart  lone  and  desolate 
In  the  wide  world,  without  that  only  tie 
For  which  it  loved  to  live  or  feared  to  die ; 
Lorn  as  the  hung-up  lute,  that  ne'er  hath  spoken 
Since  the  sad  day  its  master-chord  was  broken ! 

MOORE. 

LONELY  MAG  SMITH  !  See  her  as  she  walks  with 
downcast  eyes  and  heavy  heart.  It  was  not 
always  thus.  She  had  a  loving,  trusting  heart. 
Early  deprived  of  parental  guardianship,  far 
removed  from  relatives,  she  was  left  to  guide  her 
tiny  boat  over  life's  surges  alone  and  inexperi 
enced.  As  she  merged  into  womanhood,  unpro 
tected,  uncherished,  uncared  for,  there  fell  on  her 
ear  the  music  of  love,  awakening  an  intensity  of 
emotion  long  dormant.  It  whispered  of  an  ele 
vation  before  unaspired  to ;  of  ease  and  plenty 


6  OUR     NIG. 

her  simple  heart  had  never  dreamed  of  as  hers. 
She  knew  the  voice  of  her  charmer,  so  ravishing, 
sounded  far  above  her.  It  seemed  like  an  an 
gel's,  alluring  her  upward  and  onward.  She 
thought  she  could  ascend  to  him  and  become  an 
equal.  She  surrendered  to  him  a  priceless  gem? 
which  he  proudly  garnered  as  a  trophy,  with 
those  of  other  victims,  and  left  her  to  her  fate. 
The  world  seemed  full  of  hateful  deceivers  and 
crushing  arrogance.  Conscious  that  the  great 
bond  of  union  to  her  former  companions  was  sev 
ered,  that  the  disdain  of  others  would  be  insup 
portable,  she  determined  to  leave  the  few  friends 
she  possessed,  and  seek  an  asylum  among  strangers. 
Her  offspring  came  unwelcomed,  and  before  its 
nativity  numbered  weeks,  it  passed  from  earth, 
ascending  to  a  purer  and  better  life. 

u  God  be  thanked,"  ejaculated  Mag,  as  she  saw 
its  breathing  cease ;  "  no  one  can  taunt  her  with 
my  ruin." 

Blessed  release!  may  we  all  respond.  How 
many  pure,  innocent  children  not  only  inherit  a 
wicked  heart  of  their  own,  claiming  life-long 
scrutiny  and  restraint,  but  are  heirs  also  of  pa 
rental  disgrace  and  calumny,  from  which  only 


OUR     NIG.  7 

long  years  of  patient  endurance  in  paths  of  recti 
tude  can  disencumber  them. 

Mag's  new  home  was  soon  contaminated  by 
the  publicity  of  her  fall;  she  had  a  feeling  of 
degradation  oppressing  her  ;  but  she  resolved  to 
be  circumspect,  and  try  to  regain  in  a  measure 
what  she  had  lost.  Then  some  foul  tongue  would 
jest  of  her  shame,  and  averted  looks  and  cold 
greetings  disheartened  her.  She  saw  she  could 
not  bury  in  forgetfulness  her  misdeed,  so  she 
resolved  to  leave  her  home  and  seek  another  in 
the  place  she  at  first  fled  from. 

Alas,  how  fearful  are  we  to  be  first  in  extend 
ing  a  helping  hand  to  those  who  stagger  in  the 
mires  of  infamy ;  to  speak  the  first  words  of  hope 
and  warning  to  those  emerging  into  the  sunlight 
of  morality !  Who  can  tell  what  numbers,  ad 
vancing  just  far  enough  to  hear  a  cold  welcome 
and  join  in  the  reserved  converse  of  professed 
reformers,  disappointed,  disheartened,  have  cho 
sen  to  dwell  in  unclean  places,  rather  than  en 
counter  these  "holier-than-thou"  of  the  great 
brotherhood  of  man ! 

Such  was  Mag's  experience ;  and  disdaining  to 
ask  favor  or  friendship  from  a  sneering  world, 


O  OUR     NIG. 

she  resolved  to  shut  herself  up  in  a  hovel  she 
had  often  passed  in  better  days,  and  which  she 
knew  to  be  untenanted.  She  vowed  to  ask  no 
favors  of  familiar  faces ;  to  die  neglected  and  for 
gotten  before  she  would  be  dependent  on  any. 
Removed  from  the  village,  she  was  seldom  seen 
except  as  upon  your  introduction,  gentle  reader, 
with  downcast  visage,  returning  her  work  to  her 
employer,  and  thus  providing  herself  with  the 
means  of  subsistence.  In  two  years  many  hands 
craved  the  same  avocation;  foreigners  who 
cheapened  toil  and  clamored  for  a  livelihood, 
competed  with  her,  and  she  could  not  thus  sus 
tain  herself.  She  was  now  above  no  drudgery. 
Occasionally  old  acquaintances  called  to  be  fa 
vored  with  help  of  some  kind,  which  she  was  glad 
to  bestow  for  the  sake  of  the  money  it  would 
bring  her ;  but  the  association  with  them  was 
such  a  painful  reminder  of  by-gones,  she  re 
turned  to  her  hut  morose  and  revengeful,  re 
fusing  all  offers  of  a  better  home  than  she  pos 
sessed.  Thus  she  lived  for  years,  hugging  her 
wrongs,  but  making  no  effort  to  escape.  She 
had  never  known  plenty,  scarcely  competency ; 
but  the  present  was  beyond  comparison  with 


OUR     NIG. 

those  innocent  years  when  the  coronet  of  virtue 
was  hers. 

Every  year  her  melancholy  increased,  her 
means  diminished.  At  last  no  one  seemed  to 
notice  her,  save  a  kind-hearted  African,  who  often 
called  to  inquire  after  her  health  and  to  see  if 
she  needed  any  fuel,  he  having  the  responsibility 
of  furnishing  that  article,  and  she  in  return  mend 
ing  or  making  garments. 

"  How  much  you  earn  dis  week,  Mag  ?  "  asked 
he  one  Saturday  evening. 

"  Little  enough,  Jim.  Two  or  three  days  with 
out  any  dinner.  I  washed  for  the  Eeeds,  and  did 
a  small  job  for  Mrs.  Bellmont ;  that 's  all.  I  shall 
starve  soon,  unless  I  can  get  more  to  do.  Folks 
seem  as  afraid  to  come  here  as  if  they  expected 
to  get  some  awful  disease.  I  do  n't  believe  there 
is  a  person  in  the  world  but  would  be  glad  to 
have  me  dead  and  out  of  the  way." 

u  No,  no,  Mag !  do  n't  talk  so.  You  shan't 
starve  so  long  as  I  have  barrels  to  hoop.  Peter 
Greene  boards  me  cheap.  I  '11  help  you,  if  nobody 
else  will." 

A  tear  stood  in  Mag's  faded  eye.  "  I  'm  glad," 
she  said,  with  a  softer  tone  than  before,  "  if  there 


10  OUR     NIG. 

is  one  who  is  n't  glad  to  see  me  suffer.  I  b'lieve 
all  Singleton  wants  to  see  me  punished,  and  feel 
as  if  they  could  tell  when  I  've  been  punished 
long  enough.  It 's  a  long  day  ahead  they  11  set 
it,  I  reckon." 

After  the  usual  supply  of  fuel  was  prepared, 
Jim  returned  home.  Full  of  pity  for  Mag,  he  set 
about  devising  measures  for  her  relief.  "By 
golly ! "  said  he  to  himself  one  day — for  he  had 
become  so  absorbed  in  Mag's  interest  that  he  had 
fallen  into  a  habit  of  musing  aloud — "By  golly! 
I  wish  she  'd  marry  me." 

"  Who  ?  "  shouted  Pete  Greene,  suddenly  start 
ing  from  an  unobserved  corner  of  the  rude  shop. 

66  Where  you  come  from,  you  sly  nigger ! "  ex 
claimed  Jim. 

"Come,  tell  me,  who  is 't?"  said  Pete;  "Mag 
Smith,  you  want  to  marry  ?  " 

"  Git  out,  Pete  !  and  when  you  come  in  dis  shop 
again,  let  a  nigger  know  it.  Do  n't  steal  in  like 
a  thief." 

Pity  and  love  know  little  severance.  One 
attends  the  other.  Jim  acknowledged  the  pres 
ence  of  the  former,  and  his  efforts  in  Mag's  behalf 
told  also  of  a  finer  principle. 


OUR      NIG.  11 

This  sudden  expedient  which  he  had  uninten 
tionally  disclosed,  roused  his  thinking  and  invent 
ive  powers  to  study  upon  the  best  method  of 
introducing  the  subject  to  Mag. 

He  belted  his  barrels,  with  many  a  scheme  re 
volving  in  his  mind,  none  of  which  quite  satisfied 
him,  or  seemed,  on  the  whole,  expedient.  He 
thought  of  the  pleasing  contrast  between  her  fair 
face  and  his  own  dark  skin ;  the  smooth,  straight 
hair,  which  he  had  once,  in  expression  of  pity, 
kindly  stroked  on  her  now  wrinkled  but  once 
fair  brow.  There  was  a  tempest  gathering  in  his 
heart,  and  at  last,  to  ease  his  pent-up  passion,  he 
exclaimed  aloud,  K  By  golly ! "  Recollecting  his 
former  exposure,  he  glanced  around  to  see  if 
Pete  was  in  hearing  again.  Satisfied  on  this 
point,  he  continued:  u  She'd  be  as  much  of  a  prize 
to  me  as  she  'd  fall  short  of  coming  up  to  the 
mark  with  white  folks.  I  do  n't  care  for  past 
things.  I  've  done  things  'fore  now  I 's  'shamed 
of.  She  's  good  enough  for  me,  any  how." 

One  more  glance  about  the  premises  to  be  sure 
Pete  was  away. 

The  next  Saturday  night  brought  Jim  to  the 
hovel  again.  The  cold  was  fast  coming  to  tarry 


12  OUR      NIG. 

its  apportioned  time.  Mag  was  nearly  despairing 
of  meeting  its  rigor. 

"  How 's  the  wood,  Mag  ? "  asked  Jim. 

u  All  gone  y  and  no  more  to  cut,  any  how,"  was 
the  reply. 

"Too  bad!"  Jiin  said.  His  truthful  reply 
would  have  been,  I  'm  glad. 

"  Anything  to  eat  in  the  house  ?  "  continued  he. 

u  No,"  replied  Mag. 

u  Too  bad ! "  again,  orally,  with  the  same  in 
ward  gratulation  as  before. 

"  Well,  Mag,"  said  Jim,  after  a  short  pause, 
u  you 's  down  low  enough.  I  do  n't  see  but  I  Jve 
got  to  take  care  of  ye.  'Sposin'  we  marry ! " 

Mag  raised  her  eyes,  full  of  amazement,  and 
uttered  a  sonorous  "  What  ?  " 

Jim  felt  abashed  for  a  moment.  He  knew  well 
what  were  her  objections. 

"  You's  had  trial  of  white  folks,  any  how.  They 
run  off  and  left  ye,  and  now  none  of  'em  come 
near  ye  to  see  if  you 's  dead  or  alive.  I 's  black 
outside,  I  know,  but  I 's  got  a  white  heart  inside. 
Which  you  rather  have,  a  black  heart  in  a  white 
skin,  or  a  white  heart  in  a  black  one  ?  " 


OUR      NIG.  13 

"  Oh,  dear ! "  sighed  Mag ;  "  Nobody  on  earth 
cares  for  me  —  " 

"I  do/'  interrupted  Jim. 

"  I  can  do  but  two  things,"  said  she,  u  beg  my 
living,  or  get  it  from  you." 

"Take  me,  Mag.    I  can  give  you  a  better 
home  than  this,  and  not  let  you  suffer  so." 

He  prevailed ;  they  married.  You  can  philos 
ophize,  gentle  reader,  upon  the  impropriety  of 
such  unions,  and  preach  dozens  of  sermons  on  the 
evils  of  amalgamation.  Want  is  a  more  power 
ful  philosopher  and  preacher.  Poor  Mag.  She 
has  sundered  another  bond  which  held  her  to  her 
fellows.  She  has  descended  another  step  down 
the  ladder  of  infamy. 
2 


14 


CHAPTER    II. 


MY   FATHER'S   DEATH. 


Misery  !  we  have  known  each  other, 
Like  a  sister  and  a  brother, 
Living  in  the  same  lone  home 
Many  years  —  we  must  live  some 
Hours  or  ages  yet  to  come. 

SHELLEY. 


JIM,  proud  of  his  treasure,  —  a  white  wife,  — 
tried  hard  to  fulfil  his  promises ;  and  furnished 
her  with  a  more  comfortable  dwelling,  diet,  and 
apparel.  It  was  comparatively  a  comfortable 
winter  she  passed  after  her  marriage.  When 
Jim  could  work,  all  went  on  well.  Industrious, 
and  fond  of  Mag,  he  was  determined  she  should 
not  regret  her  union  to  him.  Time  levied  an 
additional  charge  upon  him,  in  the  form  of  two 
pretty  mulattos,  whose  infantile  pranks  amply 
repaid  the  additional  toil.  A  few  years,  and  a 
severe  cough  and  pain  in  his  side  compelled  him 
to  be  an  idler  for  weeks  together,  and  Mag  had 


OUR      NIG  .  15 

thus  a  reminder  of  by-gones.  She  cared  for  him 
only  as  a  means  to  subserve  her  own  comfort ; 
yet  she  nursed  him  faithfully  and  true  to  mar 
riage  vows  till  death  released  her.  He  became 
the  victim  of  consumption.  He  loved  Mag  to  the 
last.  So  long  as  life  continued,  he  stifled  his 
sensibility  to  pain,  and  toiled  for  her  sustenance 
long  after  he  was  able  to  do  so. 

A  few  expressive  wishes  for  her  welfare ;  a 
hope  of  better  days  for  her ;  an  anxiety  lest 
they  should  not  all  go  to  the  u  good  place ; " 
brief  advice  about  their  children ;  a  hope  ex 
pressed  that  Mag  would  not  be  neglected  as  she 
used  to  be ;  the  manifestation  of  Christian  pa 
tience  ;  these  were  all  the  legacy  of  miserable 
Mag.  A  feeling  of  cold  desolation  came  over 
her,  as  she  turned  from  the  grave  of  one  who 
had  been  truly  faithful  to  her. 

She  was  now  expelled  from  companionship 
with  white  people  ;  this  last  step  —  her  union 
with  a  black  —  was  the  climax  of  repulsion. 

Seth  Shipley,  a  partner  in  Jim's  business, 
wished  her  to  remain  in  her  present  home  ;  but 
she  declined,  and  returned  to  her  hovel  again, 
with  obstacles  threefold  more  insurmountable 


16  OUR      NIG. 

than  before.  Seth  accompanied  her,  giving  her 
a  weekly  allowance  which  furnished  most  of  the 
food  necessary  for  the  four  inmates.  After  a 
time,  work  failed  ;  their  means  were  reduced. 

How  Mag  toiled  and  suffered,  yielding  to  fits 
of  desperation,  bursts  of  anger,  and  uttering 
curses  too  fearful  to  repeat.  When  both  were 
supplied  with  work,  they  prospered ;  if  idle,  they 
were  hungry  together.  In  this  way  their  inter 
ests  became  united ;  they  planned  for  the  future 
together.  Mag  had  lived  an  outcast  for  years. 
She  had  ceased  to  feel  the  gushings  of  peni 
tence  ;  she  had  crushed  the  sharp  agonies  of  an 
awakened  conscience.  She  had  no  longings  for 
a  purer  heart,  a  better  life.  Far  easier  to 
descend  lower.  She  entered  the  darkness  of 
perpetual  infamy.  She  asked  not  the  rite  of 
civilization  or  Christianity.  Her  will  made  her 
the  wife  of  Seth.  Soon  followed  scenes  familiar 
and  trying. 

rt  It 's  no  use,"  said  Seth  one  day ;  "  we  must 
give  the  children  away,  and  try  to  get  work  in 
some  other  place." 

«  Who  '11  take  the  black  devils?"  snarled  Mag. 


OUE      NIG.  17 

"  They  're  none  of  mine/'  said  Seth ;  "  what 
you  growling  about  ?  " 

"Nobody  will  want  any  thing  of  mine,  or 
yours  either,"  she  replied. 

«  We  11  make  'em,  p'r'aps,"  he  said.  «  There  's 
Frado  's  six  years  old,  and  pretty,  if  she  is  yours, 
and  white  folks  '11  say  so.  She  'd  be  a  prize 
somewhere,"  he  continued,  tipping  his  chair 
back  against  the  wall,  and  placing  his  feet  upon 
the  rounds,  as  if  he  had  much  more  to  say  when 
in  the  right  position. 

Frado,  as  they  called  one  of  Mag's  children, 
was  a  beautiful  mulatto,  with  long,  curly  black 
hair,  and  handsome,  roguish  eyes,  sparkling 
with  an  exuberance  of  spirit  almost  beyond 
restraint. 

Hearing  her  name  mentioned,  she  looked  up 
from  her  play,  to  see  what  Seth  had  to  say  of 
her. 

"  Would  n't  the  Bellmonts  take  her  ?  "  asked 
Seth. 

"  Bellfnonts  ?"  shouted  Mag.  «  His  wife  is  a 
right  she-devil !  and  if — " 

"  Had  n't  they  better  be  all  together  ?  "  inter- 
2* 


18  0  UR      NIG. 

rupted  Seth,  reminding  her  of  a  like  epithet 
used  in  reference  to  her  little  ones. 

Without  seeming  to  notice  him,  she  continued, 
"She  can't  keep  a  girl  in  the  house  over  a 
week  ;  and  Mr.  Bellmont  wants  to  hire  a  boy  to 
work  for  him,  but  he  can't  find  one  that  will 
live  in  the  house  with  her  ;  she  's  so  ugly,  they 
can't." 

"  Well,  we  've  got  to  make  a  move  soon," 
answered  Seth ;  "  if  you  go  with  me,  we  shall  go 
right  off.  Had  you  rather  spare  the  other 
one  ?  "  asked  Seth,  after  a  short  pause. 

"  One  's  as  bad  as  t'  other,"  replied  Mag. 
"  Frado  is  such  a  wild,  frolicky  thing,  and  means 
to  do  jest  as  she  's  a  mind  to  ;  she  wo  n't  go  if 
she  do  n't  want  to.  I  do  n't  want  to  tell  her 
she  is  to  be  given  away." 

"  I  will,"  said  Seth.     "  Come  here,  Frado  ?  " 

The  child  seemed  to  have  some  dim  fore 
shadowing  of  evil,  and  declined. 

"  Come  here,"  he  continued  •  "  I  want  to  tell 
you  something." 

She  came  reluctantly.  He  took  her  hand  and 
said  :  "  We  're  going  to  move,  by-'m-bye  ;  will 
you  go?" 


OUR      NIG.  19 

"  No  ! "  screamed  she ;  and  giving  a  sudden 
jerk  which  destroyed  Seth's  equilibrium,  left 
him  sprawling  on  the  floor,  while  she  escaped 
through  the  open  door. 

"  She  's  a  hard  one,"  said  Seth,  brushing  his 
patched  coat  sleeve.  "  I  'd  risk  her  at  Bell- 
mont's." 

They  discussed  the  expediency  of  a  speedy 
departure.  Seth  w.ould  first  seek  employment, 
and  then  return  for  Mag.  They  would  take 
with  them  what  they  could  carry,  and  leave  the 
rest  with  Pete  Greene,  and  come  for  them  when 
they  were  wanted.  They  were  long  in  arrang 
ing  affairs  satisfactorily,  and  were  not  a  little 
startled  at  the  close  of  their  conference  to  find 
Frado  missing.  They  thought  approaching  night 
would  bring  her.  Twilight  passed  into  dark 
ness,  and  she  did  not  come.  They  thought  she 
had  understood  their  plans,  and  had,  perhaps, 
permanently  withdrawn.  They  could  not  rest 
without  making  some  effort  to  ascertain  her 
retreat.  Seth  went  in  pursuit,  and  returned 
without  her.  They  rallied  others  when  they  dis 
covered  that  another  little  colored  girl  was  miss 
ing,  a  favorite  playmate  of  Frado's.  All  effort 


20  OUR      N  I  G. 

proved  unavailing.  Mag  felt  sure  her  fears 
were  realized,  and  that  she  might  never  see  her 
again.  Before  her  anxieties  became  realities, 
both  were  safely  returned,  and  from  them  and 
their  attendant  they  learned  that  they  went  to 
walk,  and  not  minding  the  direction  soon  found 
themselves  lost.  They  had  climbed  fences  and 
walls,  passed  through  thickets  and  marshes,  and 
when  night  approached  selected  a  thick  cluster 
of  shrubbery  as  a  covert  for  the  night.  They 
were  discovered  by  the  person  who  now  restored 
them,  chatting  of  their  prospects,  Frado  attempt 
ing  to  banish  the  childish  fears  of  her  com 
panion.  As  they  were  some  miles  from  home, 
they  were  kindly  cared  for  until  morning.  Mag 
was  relieved  to  know  her  child  was  not  driven 
to  desperation  by  their  intentions  to  relieve 
themselves  of  her,  and  she  was  inclined  to  think 
severe  restraint  would  be  healthful. 

The  removal  was  all  arranged ;  the  few  days 
necessary  for  such  migrations  passed  quickly, 
and  one  bright  summer  morning  they  bade  fare 
well  to  their  Singleton  hovel,  and  with  budgets 
and  bundles  commenced  their  weary  march. 
As  they  neared  the  village,  they  heard  the 


OUR     NIG.  21 

merry  shouts  of  children  gathered  around  the 
schoolroom,  awaiting  the  coming  of  their  teacher. 

"  Halloo !  "  screamed  one,  "  Black,  white  and 
yeller  !  "  "  Black,  white  and  yeller,"  echoed  a 
dozen  voices. 

It  did  not  grate  so  harshly  on  poor  Mag  as 
once  it  would.  She  did  not  even  turn  her  head 
to  look  at  them.  She  had  passed  into  an  insen 
sibility  no  childish  taunt  could  penetrate,  else 
she  would  have  reproached  herself  as  she  passed 
familiar  scenes,  for  extending  the  separation 
once  so  easily  annihilated  by  steadfast  integrity. 
Two  miles  beyond  lived  the  Bellmonts,  in  a 
large,  old  fashioned,  two-story  white  house,  en 
vironed  by  fruitful  acres,  and  embellished  by 
shrubbery  and  shade  trees.  Years  ago  a  youth 
ful  couple  consecrated  it  as  home ;  and  after 
many  little  feet  had  worn  paths  to  favorite  fruit 
trees,  and  over  its  green  hills,  and  mingled  at 
last  with  brother  man  in  the  race  which  belongs 
neither  to  the  swift  or  strong,  the  sire  became 
grey-haired  and  decrepid,  and  went  to  his  last 
repose.  His  aged  consort  soon  followed  him. 
The  old  homestead  thus  passed  into  the  hands 
of  a  son,  to  whose  wife  Mag  had  applied  the 


22  OUR      NIG. 

epithet  "  she-devil,"  as  may  be  remembered. 
John,  the  son,  had  not  in  his  family  arrange 
ments  departed  from  the  example  of  the  father. 
The  pastimes  of  his  boyhood  were  ever  freshly 
revived  by  witnessing  the  games  of  his  own  sons 
as  they  rallied  about  the  same  goal  his  youthful 
feet  had  often  won ;  as  well  as  by  the  amuse 
ments  of  his  daughters  in  their  imitations  of 
maternal  duties. 

At  the  time  we  introduce  them,  however, 
John  is  wearing  the  badge  of  age.  Most  of  his 
children  were  from  home;  some  seeking  em 
ployment  ;  some  were  already  settled  in  homes 
of  their  own.  A  maiden  sister  shared  with  him 
the  estate  on  which  he  resided,  and  occupied  a 
portion  of  the  house. 

Within  sight  of  the  house,  Seth  seated  himself 
with  his  bundles  and  the  child  he  had  been  lead 
ing,  while  Mag  walked  onward  to  the  house 
leading  Frado.  A  knock  at  the  door  brought 
Mrs.  Bellmont,  and  Mag  asked  if  she  would  be 
willing  to  let  that  child  stop  there  while  she 
went  to  the  Eeed's  house  to  wash,  and  when  she 
came  back  she  would  call  and  get  her.  It 
seemed  a  novel  request,  but  she  consented. 


OUR      NIG.  23 

Why  the  impetuous  child  entered  the  house, 
we  cannot  tell ;  the  door  closed,  and  Mag 
hastily  departed.  Frado  waited  for  the  close  of 
day,  which  was  to  bring  back  her  mother.  Alas ! 
it  never  came.  It  was  the  last  time  she  ever 
saw  or  heard  of  her  mother. 


24 


CHAPTER    III. 

A    NEW     HOME     FOR    ME. 

Oh !  did  we  but  know  of  the  shadows  so  nigh, 
The  world  would  indeed  be  a  prison  of  gloom ; 

All  light  would  be  quenched  in  youth's  eloquent  eye, 
And  the  prayer-lisping  infant  would  ask  for  the  tomb. 

For  if  Hope  be  a  star  that  may  lead  us  astray, 

And  "  deceiveth  the  heart,"  as  the  aged  ones  preach  ; 

Yet  'twas  Mercy  that  gave  it,  to  beacon  our  way, 
Though  its  halo  illumes  where  it  never  can  reach. 

ELIZA  COOK. 

As  the  day  closed  and  Mag  did  not  appear, 
surmises  were  expressed  by  the  family  that  she 
never  intended  to  return.  Mr.  Bellmont  was  a 
kind,  humane  man,  who  would  not  grudge  hospi 
tality  to  the  poorest  wanderer,  nor  fail  to  sym 
pathize  with  any  sufferer,  however  humble. 
The  child's  desertion  by  her  mother  appealed  to 
his  symathy,  and  he  felt  inclined  to  succor  her. 
To  do  this  in  opposition  to  Mrs.  Bellmont's 
wishes,  would  be  like  encountering  a  whirlwind 


\ 


OUR      N  I  G  .  25 

charged  with  fire,  daggers  and  spikes.  She  was 
not  as  susceptible  of  fine  emotions  as  her  spouse. 
Mag's  opinion  of  her  was  not  without  founda 
tion.  She  was  self-willed,  haughty,  undisciplined, 
arbitrary  and  severe.  In  common  parlance,  she 
was  a  scold,  a  thorough  one.  Mr.  B.  remained 
silent  during  the  consultation  which  follows, 
engaged  in  by  mother,  Mary  and  John,  or  Jack, 
as  he  was  familiarly  called. 

K  Send  her  to  the  County  House,"  said  Mary, 
in  reply  to  the  query  what  should  be  done  with 
her,  in  a  tone  which  indicated  self-importance  in 
the  speaker.  She  was  indeed  the  idol  of  her 
mother,  and  more  nearly  resembled  her  in  dis 
position  and  manners  than  the  others. 

Jane,  an  invalid  daughter,  the  eldest  of  those 
at  home,  was  reclining  on  a  sofa  apparently  un 
interested. 

"  Keep  her,"  said  Jack.  "  She  *s  real  hand 
some  and  bright,  and  not  very  black,  either." 

"  Yes,"  rejoined  Mary ;  u  that 's  just  like  you, 
Jack.  She  '11  be  of  no  use  at  all  these  three 
years,  right  under  foot  all  the  time." 

"  Poh  !    Miss    Mary ;   if  she   should   stay,   it 
would  n't  be  two  days  before  you  would  be  tell- 
3 


26  OUR      NIG. 

ing  the  girls  about  our  nig,  our  nig ! "  retorted 
Jack. 

66 1  do  n't  want  a  nigger  'round  me,  do  you, 
mother  ?  "  asked  Mary. 

66 1  do  n't  mind  the  nigger  in  the  child.  I 
should  like  a  dozen  better  than  one/'  replied  her 
mother.  "  If  I  could  make  her  do  my  work  in 
a  few  years,  I  would  keep  her.  I  have  so  much 
trouble  with  girls  I  hire,  I  am  almost  persuaded 
if  I  have  one  to  train  up  in  my  way  from  a 
child,  I  shall  be  able  to  keep  them  awhile.  I 
am  tired  of  changing  every  few  months." 

"  Where  could  she  sleep  ?  "  asked  Mary.  "  I 
do  n't  want  her  near  me." 

"  In  the  L  chamber,"  answered  the  mother. 

«  How  '11  she  get  there  ?  "  asked  Jack.  «  She'll 
be  afraid  to  go  through  that  dark  passage, 
and  she  can't  climb  the  ladder  safely." 

"  She  '11  have  to  go  there  ;  it 's  good  enough 
for  a  nigger,"  was  the  reply. 

Jack  was  sent  on  horseback  to  ascertain  if 
Mag  was  at  her  home.  He  returned  with  the 
testimony  of  Pete  Greene  that  they  were  fairly 
departed,  and  that  the  child  was  intentionally 
thrust  upon  their  family. 


OUR      NIG.  27 

The  imposition  was  not  at  all  relished  by  Mrs. 
B.,  or  the  pert,  haughty  Mary,  who  had  just 
glided  into  her  teens. 

"  Show  the  child  to  bed.  Jack,"  said  his  mother. 
"  You  seem  most  pleased  with  the  little  nigger, 
so  you  may  introduce  her  to  her  room." 

He  went  to  the  kitchen,  and,  taking  Frado 
gently  by  the  hand,  told  her  he  would  put  her 
in  bed  now ;  perhaps  her  mother  would  come  the 
next  night  after  her. 

It  was  not  yet  quite  dark,  so  they  ascended 
the  stairs  without  any  light,  passing  through 
nicely  furnished  rooms,  which  were  a  source  of 
great  amazement  to  the  child.  He  opened  the 
door  which  connected  with  her  room  by  a  dark, 
unfinished  passage-way.  "Don't  bump  your 
head,"  said  Jack,  and  stepped  before  to  open 
the  door  leading  into  her  apartment, —  an  unfin 
ished  chamber  over  the  kitchen,  the  roof  slant 
ing  nearly  to  the  floor,  so  that  the  bed  could 
stand  only  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  A  small 
half  window  furnished  light  and  air.  Jack 
returned  to  the  sitting  room  with  the  remark 
that  the  child  would  soon  outgrow  those  quar 
ters. 


28  OUR      NIG. 

"When  she  does,  she'll  outgrow  the  house," 
remarked  the  mother, 

"  What  can  she  do  to  help  you  ? "  asked  Mary. 
"She  came  just  in  the  right  time,  didn't  she? 
Just  the  very  day  after  Bridget  left,"  continued 
she. 

"I'll  see  what  she  can  do  in  the  morning," 
was  the  answer. 

While  this  conversation  was  passing  below? 
Frado  lay,  revolving  in  her  little  mind  whether 
she  would  remain  or  not  until  her  mother's 
return.  She  was  of  wilful,  determined  nature, 
a  stranger  to  fear,  and  would  not  hesitate  to 
wander  away  should  she  decide  to.  She  remem 
bered  the  conversation  of  her  mother  with  Seth, 
the  words  "  given  away  "  which  she  heard  used 
in  reference  to  herself ;  and  though  she  did  not 
know  their  full  import,  she  thought  she  should, 
by  remaining,  be  in  some  relation  to  white 
people  she  was  never  favored  with  before.  So 
she  resolved  to  tarry,  with  the  hope  that  mother 
would  come  and  get  her  some  time.  The  hot 
sun  had  penetrated  her  room,  and  it  was  long 
before  a  cooling  breeze  reduced  the  temperature 
so  that  she  could  sleep. 


OUR      NIG.  29 

Frado  was  called  early  in  the  morning  by  her 
new  mistress.  Her  first  work  was  to  feed  the 
hens.  She  was  shown  how  it  was  always  to  be 
done,  and  in  no  other  way ;  any  departure  from 
this  rule  to  be  punished  by  a  whipping.  She 
was  then  accompanied  by  Jack  to  drive  the  cows 
to  pasture,  so  she  might  learn  the  way.  Upon 
her  return  she  was  allowed  to  eat  her  breakfast, 
consisting  of  a  bowl  of  skimmed  milk,  with 
brown  bread  crusts,  which  she  was  told  to  eat, 
standing,  by  the  kitchen  table,  and  must  not  be 
over  ten  minutes  about  it.  Meanwhile^  the 
family  were  taking  their  morning  meal  in  the 
dining-room.  This  over,  she  was  placed  on  a 
cricket  to  wash  the  common  dishes ;  she  was  to 
be  in  waiting  always  to  bring  wood  and  chips, 
to  run  hither  and  thither  from  room  to  room. 

A  large  amount  of  dish-washing  for  small 
hands  followed  dinner.  Then  the  same  after  tea 
and  going  after  the  cows  finished  her  first  day's 
work.  It  was  a  new  discipline  to  the  child.  She 
found  some  attractions  about  the  place,  and  she 
retired  to  rest  at  night  more  willing  to  remain. 
The  same  routine  followed  day  after  day,  with 
slight  variation ;  adding  a  little  more  work,  and 
3* 


30  OUR      NIG. 

spicing  the  toil  with  "words  that  burn/'  and  fre 
quent  blows  on  her  head.  These  were  great 
annoyances  to  Frado,  and  had  she  known  where 
her  mother  was,  she  would  have  gone  at  once  to 
her.  She  was  often  greatly  wearied,  and  silently 
wept  over  her  sad  fate.  At  first  she  wept  aloud, 
which  Mrs.  Bellmont  noticed  by  applying  a  raw 
hide,  always  at  hand  in  the  kitchen.  It  was  a 
symptom  of  discontent  and  complaining  which 
must  be  "  nipped  in  the  bud,"  she  said. 

Thus  passed  a  year.  No  intelligence  of  Mag. 
It  was  now  certain  Frado  was  to  become  a  per 
manent  member  of  the  family.  Her  labors  were 
multiplied ;  she  was  quite  indispensable,  although 
but  seven  years  old.  She  had  never  learned  to 
read,  never  heard  of  a  school  until  her  residence 
in  the  family. 

Mrs.  Bellmont  was  in  doubt  about  the  utility 
of  attempting  to  educate  people  of  color,  who 
were  incapable  of  elevation.  This  subject  occa 
sioned  a  lengthy  discussion  in  the  family.  Mr. 
Bellmont,  Jane  and  Jack  arguing  for  Fr ado's 
education  ;  Mary  and  her  mother  objecting.  At 
last  Mr.  Bellmont  declared  decisively  that  she 
should  go  to  school.  He  was  a  man  who  seldom 


OUR      N  IG.  31 

decided  controversies  at  home.  The  word  once 
spoken  admitted  of  no  appeal;  so,  notwithstand 
ing  Mary's  objection  that  she  would  have  to 
attend  the  same  school  she  did,  the  word  became 
law. 

It  was  to  be  a  new  scene  to  Frado,  and  Jack 
had  many  queries  and  conjectures  to  answer. 
He  was  himself  too  far  advanced  to  attend  the 
summer  school,  which  Frado  regretted,  having 
had  too  many  opportunities  of  witnessing  Miss 
Mary's  temper  to  feel  safe  in  her  company  alone. 

The  opening  day  of  school  came.  Frado 
sauntered  on  far  in  the  rear  of  Mary,  who  was 
ashamed  to  be  seen  "walking  with  a  nigger." 
As  soon  as  she  appeared,  with  scanty  clothing 
and  bared  feet,  the  children  assembled,  noisily 
published  her  approach :  "  See  that  nigger," 
shouted  one.  "  Look  !  look  !  "  cried  another. 
"I  won't  play  with  her,"  said  one  little  girl. 
66  Nor  I  neither,"  replied  another. 

Mary  evidently  relished  these  sharp  attacks, 
and  saw  a  fair  prospect  of  lowering  Nig  where, 
according  to  her  views,  she  belonged.  Poor 
Frado,  chagrined  and  grieved,  felt  that  her  an 
ticipations  of  pleasure  at  such  a  place  were  far 


32  OUR      NIG. 

from  being  realized.  She  was  just  deciding 
to  return  home,  and  never  come  there  again, 
when  the  teacher  appeared,  and  observing  the 
downcast  looks  of  the  child,  took  her  by  the 
hand,  and  led  her  into  the  school-room.  All  fol 
lowed,  and,  after  the  bustle  of  securing  seats 
was  over,  Miss  Marsh  inquired  if  the  children 
knew  u  any  cause  for  the  sorrow  of  that  little 
girl  ?  "  pointing  to  Frado.  It  was  soon  all  told. 
She  then  reminded  them  of  their  duties  to  the 
poor  and  friendless ;  their  cowardice  in  attack 
ing  a  young  innocent  child;  referred  them  to 
one  who  looks  not  on  outward  appearances,  but 
on  the  heart.  "She  looks  like  a  good  girl;  I 
think  /shall  love  her,  so  lay  aside  all  prejudice, 
and  vie  with  each  other  in  shewing  kindness 
and  good-will  to  one  who  seems  different  from 
you,"  were  the  closing  remarks  of  the  kind  lady. 
Those  kind  words !  The  most  agreeable  sound 
which  ever  meets  the  ear  of  sorrowing,  griev 
ing  childhood. 

Example  rendered  her  words  efficacious.  Day 
by  day  there  was  a  manifest  change  of  de 
portment  towards  "Nig."  Her  speeches  often 
drew  merriment  from  the  children;  no  one 


OUR      NIG.  33 

could  do  more  to  enliven  their  favorite  pastimes 
than  Frado.  Mary  could  not  endure  to  see  her 
thus  noticed,  yet  knew  not  how  to  prevent  it. 
She  could  not  influence  her  schoolmates  as  she 
wished.  She  had  not  gained  their  affections 
by  winning  ways  and  yielding  points  of  con 
troversy.  On  the  contrary,  she  was  self-willed, 
domineering;  every  day  reported  "mad"  by 
some  of  her  companions.  She  availed  herself 
of  the  only  alternative,  abuse  and  taunts,  as 
they  returned  from  school.  This  was  not  satis 
factory;  she  wanted  to  use  physical  force  "to 
subdue  her,"  to  "keep  her  down." 

There  was,  on  their  way  home,  a  field  inter 
sected  by  a  stream  over  which  a  single  plank 
was  placed  for  a  crossing.  It  occurred  to  Ma 
ry  that  it  would  be  a  punishment  to  Nig  to 
compel  her  to  cross  over;  so  she  dragged  her 
to  the  edge,  and  told  her  authoritatively  to  go 
over.  Nig  hesitated,  resisted.  Mary  placed 
herself  behind  the  child,  and,  in  the  struggle 
to  force  her  over,  lost  her  footing  and  plunged 
into  the  stream.  Some  of  the  larger  scholars 
being  in  sight,  ran,  and  thus  prevented  Mary 
from  drowning  and  Frado  from  falling.  Nig 


34  0  U  B      N  I  G  . 

scampered  home  fast  as  possible,  and  Mary  went 
to  the  nearest  house,  dripping,  to  procure  a 
change  of  garments.  She  came  loitering  home, 
half  crying,  exclaiming,  "Nig  pushed  me  into 
the  stream ! "  She  then  related  the  particulars. 
Nig  was  called  from  the  kitchen.  Mary  stood 
with  anger  flashing  in  her  eyes.  Mr.  Bellmont 
sat  quietly  reading  his  paper.  He  had  wit 
nessed  too  many  of  Miss  Mary's  outbreaks  to 
be  startled.  Mrs.  Bellmont  interrogated  Nig. 

"I  didn't  do  it!  I  didn't  doit!"  answered 
Nig,  passionately,  and  then  related  the  occur 
rence  truthfully. 

The  discrepancy  greatly  enraged  Mrs.  Bell 
mont.  With  loud  accusations  and  angry  ges 
tures  she  approached  the  child.  Turning  to 
her  husband,  she  asked, 

"Will  you  sit  still,  there,  and  hear  that 
black  nigger  call  Mary  a  liar?" 

"How  do  we  know  but  she  has  told 
the  truth?  I  shall  not  punish  her,"  he  re 
plied,  and  left  the  house,  as  he  usually  did 
when  a  tempest  threatened  to  envelop  him. 
No  sooner  was  he  out  of  sight  than  Mrs.  B. 
and  Mary  commenced  beating  her  inhumanly ; 


OUE      NIG.  35 

then  propping  her  mouth  open  with  a  piece 
of  wood,  shut  her  up  in  a  dark  room,  with 
out  any  supper.  For  employment,  while  the 
tempest  raged  within,  Mr.  Bellmont  went  for 
the  cows,  a  task  belonging  to  Frado,  and  thus 
unintentionally  prolonged  her  pain.  At  dark 
Jack  came  in,  and  seeing  Mary,  accosted  her 
with,  "  So  you  thought  you'd  vent  your  spite 
on  Nig,  did  you?  Why  can't  you  let  her 
alone?  It  was  good  enough  for  you  to  get 
a  ducking,  only  you  did  not  stay  in  half  long 
enough." 

"  Stop ! "  said  his  mother.  "  You  shall  never 
talk  so  before  me.  You  would  have  that  little 
nigger  trample  on  Mary,  would  you?  She 
came  home  with  a  lie;  it  made  Mary's  story 
false." 

"What  was  Mary's  story?"  asked  Jack. 

It  was   related. 

"Now,"  said  Jack,  sallying  into  a  chair,  "the 
school-children  happened  to  see  it  all,  and  they 
tell  the  same  story  Nig  does.  Which  is  most 
likely  to  be  true,  what  a  dozen  agree  they 
saw,  or  the  contrary?" 

"It  is  very  strange  you  will   believe   what 


36  OUR      NIG. 

others  say  against  your  sister/'  retorted  his 
mother,  with  flashing  eye.  "I  think  it  is  time 
your  father  subdued  you." 

"  Father  is  a  sensible  man,"  argued  Jack. 
"He  would  not  wrong  -a  dog.  Where  is  Fra- 
do  ?  "  he  continued. 

"  Mother  gave  her  a  good  whipping  and 
shut  her  up,"  replied  Mary. 

Just  then  Mr.  Bellmont  entered,  and  asked  if 
Frado  was  "  shut  up  yet." 

The  knowledge  of  her  innocence,  the  perfidy 
of  his  sister,  worked  fearfully  on  Jack.  He 
bounded  from  his  chair,  searched  every  room 
till  he  found  the  child ;  her  mouth  wedged 
apart,  her  face  swollen,  and  full  of  pain. 

How  Jack  pitied  her  !  He  relieved  her  jaws, 
brought  her  some  supper,  took  her  to  her  room, 
comforted  her  as  well  as  he  knew  how,  sat  by  her 
till  she  fell  asleep,  and  then  left  for  the  sitting 
room.  As  he  passed  his  mother,  he  remarked, 
"  If  that  was  the  way  Frado  was  to  be  treated,  he 
hoped  she  would  never  wake  again  !  "  He  then 
imparted  her  situation  to  his  father,  who  seemed 
untouched,  till  a  glance  at  Jack  exposed  a  tear 
ful  eye.  Jack  went  early  to  her  next  morning. 


OUR      NIG.  37 

She  awoke  sad,  but  refreshed.  After  breakfast 
Jack  took  her  with  him  to  the  field,  and  kept 
her  through  the  day.  But  it  could  not  be  so 
generally.  She  must  return  to  school,  to  her 
household  duties.  He  resolved  to  do  what  he 
could  to  protect  her  from  Mary  and  his  mother. 
He  bought  her  a  dog,  which  became  a  great 
favorite  with  both.  The  invalid,  Jane,  would 
gladly  befriend  her ;  but  she  had  not  the 
strength  to  brave  the  iron  will  of  her  mother. 
Kind  words  and  affectionate  glances  were  the 
only  expressions  of  sympathy  she  could  safely 
indulge  in.  The  men  employed  on  the  farm 
were  always  glad  to  hear  her  prattle ;  she  was 
a  great  favorite  with  them.  Mrs.  Bellmont  al 
lowed  them  the  privilege  of  talking  with  her  in 
the  kitchen.  She  did  not  fear  but  she  should 
have  ample  opportunity  of  subduing  her  when 
they  were  away.  Three  months  of  schooling, 
summer  and  winter,  she  enjoyed  for  three  years. 
Her  winter  over-dress  was  a  cast-off  overcoat, 
once  worn  by  Jack,  and  a  sun-bonnet.  It  was  a 
source  of  great  merriment  to  the  scholars,  but 
Nig's  retorts  were  so  mirthful,  and  their  satisfac 
tion  so  evident  in  attributing  the  selection  to 
4 


38  OUR      NIG. 

"  Old  Granny  Bellmont,"  that  it  was  not  painful 
to  Nig  or  pleasurable  to  Mary.  Her  jollity  was 
not  to  be  quenched  by  whipping  or  scolding. 
In  Mrs.  Bellmont's  presence  she  was  under  re 
straint;  but  in  the  kitchen,  and  among  her 
schoolmates,  the  pent  up  fires  burst  forth.  She 
was  ever  at  some  sly  prank  when  unseen  by  her 
teacher,  in  school  hours ;  not  unfrequently  some 
outburst  of  merriment,  of  which  she  was  the 
original,  was  charged  upon  some  innocent  mate, 
and  punishment  inflicted  which  she  merited. 
They  enjoyed  her  antics  so  fully  that  any  of 
them  would  suffer  wrongfully  to  keep  open  the 
avenues  of  mirth.  She  would  venture  far  be 
yond  propriety,  thus  shielded  and  countenanced. 
The  teacher's  desk  was  supplied  with  drawers, 
in  which  were  stored  his  books  and  other  et 
ceteras  of  the  profession.  The  children  observed 
Nig  very  busy  there  one  morning  before  school, 
as  they  flitted  in  occasionally  from  their  play 
outside.  The  master  came  ;  called  the  children 
to  order ;  opened  a  drawer  to  take  the  book  the 
occasion  required  ;  when  out  poured  a  volume  of 
smoke.  "  Fire  !  fire  ! "  screamed  he,  at  the  top  of 
his  voice.  By  this  time  he  had  become  suf- 


OUR      NIG.  39 

ficiently  acquainted  with  the  peculiar  odor,  to 
know  he  was  imposed  upon.  The  scholars 
shouted  with  laughter  to  see  the  terror  of  the 
dupe,  who,  feeling  abashed  at  the  needless  fright, 
made  no  very  strict  investigation,  and  Nig  once 
more  escaped  punishment.  She  had  provided 
herself  with  cigars,  and  puffing,  puffing  away  at 
the  crack  of  the  drawer,  had  filled  it  with  smoke, 
and  then  closed  it  tightly  to  deceive  the  teacher, 
and  amuse  the  scholars.  The  interim  of  terms 
was  filled  up  with  a  variety  of  duties  new  and 
peculiar.  At  home,  no  matter  how  powerful 
the  heat  when  sent  to  rake  hay  or  guard  the 
grazing  herd,  she  was  never  permitted  to  shield 
her  skin  from  the  sun.  She  was  not  many 
shades  darker  than  Mary  now ;  what  a  calamity 
it  would  be  ever  to  hear  the  contrast  spoken  of. 
Mrs.  Bellmont  was  determined  the  sun  should 
have  full  power  to  darken  the  shade  which 
nature  had  first  bestowed  upon  her  as  best 
befitting. 


40 


CHAPTER   IV. 

A     FRIEND     FOR     NIG. 

"  Hours  of  my  youth  !  when  nurtured  in  my  breast, 
To  love  a  stranger,  friendship  made  me  blest ;  — 
Friendship,  the  dear  peculiar  bond  of  youth, 
When  every  artless  bosom  throbs  with  truth ; 
Untaught  by  worldly  wisdom  how  to  feign ; 
And  check  each  impulse  with  prudential  reign ; 
When  all  we  feel  our  honest  souls  disclose — 
In  love  to  friends,  in  open  hate  to  foes ; 
No  varnished  tales  the  lips  of  youth  repeat, 
No  dear-bought  knowledge  purchased  by  deceit." 

BYRON. 

WITH  what  differing  emotions  have  the  deni 
zens  of  earth  awaited  the  approach  of  to-day. 
Some  sufferer  has  counted  the  vibrations  of  the 
pendulum  impatient  for  its  dawn,  who,  now  that 
it  has  arrived,  is  anxious  for  its  clgse.  The  vo 
tary  of  pleasure,  conscious  of  yesterday's  void, 
wishes  for  power  to  arrest  time's  haste  till  a  few 
more  hours  of  mirth  shall  be  enjoyed.  The  un 
fortunate  are  yet  gazing  in  vain  for  golden- 
edged  clouds  they  fancied  would  appear  in  their 
horizon.  The  good  man  feels  that  he  has  accom- 


0  U  R      N  I  G  .  41 

plished  too  little  for  the  Master,  and  sighs  that 
another  day  must  so  soon  close.  Innocent  child 
hood,  weary  of  its  stay,  longs  for  another  mor 
row  ;  busy  manhood  cries,  hold !  hold !  and  pur 
sues,  it  to  another's  dawn.  All  are  dissatisfied. 
All  crave  some  good  not  yet  possessed,  which 
time  is  expected  to  bring  with  all  its  morrows. 

Was  it  strange  that,  to  a  disconsolate  child, 
three  years  should  seem  a  long,  long  time  ? 
During  school  time  she  had  rest  from  Mrs.  Bell- 
mont's  tyranny.  She  was  now  nine  years  old ; 
time,  her  mistress  said,  such  privileges  should 
cease. 

She  could  now  read  and  spell,  and  knew  the 
elementary  steps  in  grammar,  arithmetic,  and 
writing.  Her  education  completed,  as  she  said,  Mrs. 
Bellmont  felt  that  her  time  and  person  belonged 
solely  to  her.  She  was  under  her  in  every  sense 
of  the  word.  What  an  opportunity  to  indulge 
her  vixen  nature  !  No  matter  what  occurred  to 
ruffle  her,  or  from  what  source  provocation  came, 
real  or  fancied,  a  few  blows  on  Nig  seemed  to 
relieve  her  of  a  portion  of  ill-will. 

These  were  days  when  Fido  was  the  entire 
confidant  of  Frado.  She  told  him  her  griefs  as 


42  0  U  R      N  I  G  . 

though  he  were  human ;  and  he  sat  so  still,  and 
listened  so  attentively,  she  really  believed  he 
knew  her  sorrows.  All  the  leisure  moments  she 
could  gain  were  used  in  teaching  him  some  feat 
of  dog-agility,  so  that  Jack  pronounced  .him 
very  knowing,  and  was  truly  gratified  to  know 
he  had  furnished  her  with  a  gift  answering  his 
intentions. 

Fido  was  the  constant  attendant  of  Frado, 
when  sent  from  the  house  on  errands,  going  and 
returning,  with  the  cows,  out  in  the  fields,  to  the 
village.  If  ever  she  forgot  her  hardships  it  was 
in  his  company. 

Spring  was  now  retiring.  James,  one  of  the 
absent  sons,  was  expected  home  on  a  visit.  He 
had  never  seen  the  last  acquisition  to  the  family. 
Jack  had  written  faithfully  of  all  the  merits  of 
his  colored  protege,  and  hinted  plainly  that 
mother  did  not  always  treat  her  just  right. 
Many  were  the  preparations  to  make  the  visit 
pleasant,  and  as  the  day  approached  when  he 
was  to  arrive,  great  exertions  were  made  to 
cook  the  favorite  viands,  to  prepare  the  choicest 
table-fare. 

The  morning  of  the  arrival  day  was  a  busy 


0  U  R      N  I  G  .  43 

one.  Frado  knew  not  who  would  be  of  so  much 
importance ;  her  feet  were  speeding  hither  and 
thither  so  unsparingly.  Mrs.  Bellmont  seemed 
a  trifle  fatigued,  and  her  shoes  which  had,  early 
in  the  morning,  a  methodic  squeak,  altered  to  an 
irregular,  peevish  snap. 

"  Get  some  little  wood  to  make  the  fire  burn," 
said  Mrs.  Bellmont,  in  a  sharp  tone.  Frado 
obeyed,  bringing  the  smallest  she  could  find. 

Mrs.  Bellmont  approached  her,  and,  giving  her 
a  box  on  her  ear,  reiterated  the  command. 

The  first  the  child  brought  was  the  smallest  to 
be  found  ;  of  course,  the  second  must  be  a  trifle 
larger.  She  well  knew  it  was,  as  she  threw  it 
into  a  box  on  the  hearth.  To  Mrs.  Bellmont 
it  was  a  greater  affront,  as  well  as  larger  wood, 
so  she  "  taught  her"  with  the  raw-hide,  and  sent 
her  the  third  time  for  "  little  wood." 

Nig,  weeping,  knew  not  what  to  do.  She 
had  carried  the  smallest ;  none  left  would  suit 
her  mistress ;  of  course  further  punishment  await 
ed  her ;  so  she  gathered  up  whatever  came  first, 
and  threw  it  down  on  the  hearth.  As  she  ex 
pected,  Mrs.  Bellmont,  enraged,  approached  her, 
and  kicked  her  so  forcibly  as  to  throw  her  upon 


44  OUR      NIG. 

the  floor.  Before  she  could  rise,  another  foiled 
the  attempt,  and  then  followed  kick  after  kick  in 
quick  succession  and  power,  till  she  reached  the 
door.  Mr.  Bellmont  and  Anut  Abby,  hearing  the 
noise,  rushed  in,  just  in  time  to  see  the  last  of 
the  performance.  Nig  jumped  up,  and  rushed 
from  the  house,  out  of  sight. 

Aunt  Abby  returned  to  her  apartment,  fol 
lowed  by  John,  who  was  muttering  to  himself. 

"What  were  you  saying?"  asked  Aunt  Abby. 

"  I  said  I  hoped  the  child  never  would  come 
into  the  house  again." 

"  What  would  become  of  her  ?  You  cannot 
mean  that"  continued  his  sister. 

"  I  do  mean  it.  The  child  does  as  much  work 
as  a  woman  ought  to ;  and  just  see  how  she  is 
kicked  about ! " 

"Why  do  you  have  it  so,  John?"  asked  his 
sister. 

"How  am  I  to  help  it?  Women  rule  the 
earth,  and  all  in  it." 

"  I  think  I  should  rule  my  own  house,  John," — 

"And  live  in  hell  meantime,"  added  Mr. 
Bellmont. 


CUE      NIG.  45 

John  now  sauntered  out  to  the  barn  to  await 
the  quieting  of  the  storm. 

Aunt  Abby  had  a  glimpse  of  Nig  as  she 
passed  out  of  the  yard;  but  to  arrest  her,  or 
shew  her  that  she  would  shelter  her,  in  Mrs. 
Bellmont's  presence,  would  only  bring  reserved 
wrath  on  her  defenceless  head.  Her  sister-in- 
law  had  great  prejudices  against  her.  One 
cause  of  the  alienation  was  that  she  did  not 
give  her  right  in  the  homestead  to  John,  and 
leave  it  forever;  another  was  that  she  was  a 
professor  of  religion,  (so  was  Mrs.  Bellmont;) 
but  Nab,  as  she  called  her,  did  not  live  accord 
ing  to  her  profession;  another,  that  she  would 
sometimes  give  Nig  cake  and  pie,  which  she  was 
never  allowed  to  have  at  home.  Mary  had 
often  noticed  and  spoken  of  her  inconsistencies. 

The  dinner  hour  passed.  Frado  had  not  ap 
peared.  Mrs.  B.  made  no  inquiry  or  search. 
Aunt  Abby  looked  long,  and  found  her  con 
cealed  in  an  outbuilding.  "  Come  into  the 
house  with  me,"  implored  Aunt  Abby. 

"I  ain't  going  in  any  more,"  sobbed  the 
child. 

"  What  will  you  do  ?  "  asked  Aunt  Abby. 


46  0  U  R     N  I  G  . 

"  I  've  got  to  stay  out  here  and  die.  I  ha'  n't 
got  no  mother,  no  home.  I  wish  I  was  dead." 

"  Poor  thing,"  muttered  Aunt  Abby ;  and 
slyly  providing  her  with  some  dinner,  left  her 
to  her  grief. 

Jane  went  to  confer  with  her  Aunt  about  the 
affair ;  and  learned  from  her  the  retreat.  She 
would  gladly  have  concealed  her  in  her  own 
chamber,  and  ministered  to  her  wants ;  but  she 
was  dependent  on  Mary  and  her  mother  for 
care,  and  any  displeasure  caused  by  attention  to 
Nig,  was  seriously  felt. 

Toward  night  the  coach  brought  James.  A 
time  of  general  greeting,  inquiries  for  absent 
members  of  the  family,  a  visit  to  Aunt  Abby's 
room,  undoing  a  few  delicacies  for  Jane,  brought 
them  to  the  tea  hour. 

« Where  'sFrado?"  asked  Mr.  Bellmont,  ob 
serving  she  was  not  in  her  usual  place,  behind 

her  mistress'  chair. 

"I  don't  know,  and  I  don't  care.  If  she 
makes  her  appearance  again,  I  '11  take  the  skin 
from  her  body,"  replied  his  wife. 

James,  a  fine  looking  young  man,  with  a 
pleasant  countenance,  placid,  and  yet  decidedly 


0  U  R      N  I  G  .  47 

serious,  yet  not  stern,  looked  up  confounded. 
He  was  no  stranger  to  his  mother's  nature ;  but 
years  of  absence  had  erased  the  occurrences 
once  so  familiar,  and  he  asked,  "Is  this  that 
pretty  little  Nig,  Jack  writes  to  me  about,  that 
you  are  so  severe  upon,  mother  ?  " 

"I'll  not  leave  much  of  her  beauty  to  be 
seen,  if  she  comes  in  sight;  and  now,  John," 
said  Mrs,  B.,  turning  to  her  husband,  u  you  need 
not  think  you  are  going  to  learn  her  to  treat  me 
in  this  way;  just  see  how  saucy  she  was  this 
morning.  She  shall  learn  her  place." 

Mr.  Bellmont  raised  his  calm,  determined  eye 
full  upon  her,  and  said,  in  a  decisive  manner : 
"  You  shall  not  strike,  or  scald,  or  skin  her,  as  you 
caU  it,  if  she  comes  back  again.  Eemember ! " 
and  he  brought  his  hand  down  upon  the  table. 
"  I  have  searched  an  hour  for  her  now,  and  she 
is  not  to  be  found  on  the  premises.  Do  you 
know  where  she  is  ?  Is  she  your  prisoner  ?  " 

"  No  !  I  have  just  told  you  I  did  not  know 
where  she  was.  Nab  has  her  hid  somewhere,  I 
suppose.  Oh,  dear !  I  did  not  think  it  would 
come  to  this ;  that  my  own  husband  would  treat 
me  so."  Then  came  fast  flowing  tears,  which  no 


48  OUR      NIG. 

one  but  Mary  seemed  to  notice.  Jane  crept 
into  Aunt  Abby's  room;  Mr.  Bellmont  and 
James  went  out  of  doors,  and  Mary  remained  to 
condole  with  her  parent. 

"Do  you  know  where  Frado  is ? "  asked  Jane 
of  her  aunt. 

"No,"  she  replied.  "I  have  hunted  every 
where.  She  has  left  her  first  hiding-place.  I 
cannot  think  what  has  become  of  her.  There 
comes  Jack  and  Fido  ;  perhaps  he  knows; "  and 
she  walked  to  a  window  near,  where  James  and 
his  father  were  conversing  together. 

The  two  brothers  exchanged  a  hearty  greet 
ing,  and  then  Mr.  Bellmont  told  Jack  to  eat  his 
supper ;  afterward  he  wished  to  send  him  away. 
.He  immediately  went  in.  Accustomed  to  all 
the  phases  of  indoor  storms,  from  a  whine  to 
thunder  and  lightning,  he  saw  at  a  glance  marks 
of  disturbance.  He  had  been  absent  through 
the  day,  with  the  hired  men. 

"What's  the  fuss?"  asked  he,  rushing  into 
Aunt  Abby's. 

"Eat  your  supper,"  said  Jane;  "go  home, 
Jack." 


0  U  E     N  I  G  .  49 

Back  again  through  the  dining-room,  and  out 
to  his  father. 

"  What 's  the  fuss  ?  "  again  inquired  he  of  his 
father. 

u  Eat  your  supper.  Jack,  and  see  if  you  can 
find  Frado.  She 's  not  been  seen  since  morning, 
and  then  she  was  kicked  out  of  the  house." 

"  I  shan  't  eat  my  supper  till  I  find  her,"  said 
Jack,  indignantly.  "  Come,  James,  and  see  the 
little  creature  mother  treats  so." 

They  started,  calling,  searching,  coaxing,  all 
their  way  along.  No  Frado.  They  returned  to 
the  house  to  consult.  James  and  Jack  declared 
they  would  not  sleep  till  she  was  found. 

Mrs.  Bellmont  attempted  to  dissuade  them 
from  the  search.  "  It  was  a  shame  a  little  nigger 
should  make  so  much  trouble." 

Just  then  Fido  came  running  up,  and  Jack 
exclaimed,  "  Fido  knows  where  she  is,  I  '11  bet." 

"  So  I  believe,"  said  his  father  ;  "  but  we  shall 
not  be  wiser  unless  we  can  outwit  him.  He  will 
not  do  what  his  mistress  forbids  him." 

"  I  know  how  to  fix  him,"  said  Jack.  Taking 
a  plate  from  the  table,  which  was  still  waiting, 
he  called,  "  Fido !  Fido !  Frado  wants  some  sup- 
5 


50  0  U  B     N  I  G  . 

per.  Come  ! "  Jack  started,  the  dog  followed, 
and  soon  capered  on  before,  far,  far  into  the 
fields,  over  walls  and  through  fences,  into  a 
piece  of  swampy  land.  Jack  followed  close,  and 
soon  appeared  to  James,  who  was  quite  in  the 
rear,  coaxing  and  forcing  Frado  along  with  him. 

A  frail  child,  driven  from  shelter  by  the  cru 
elty  of  his  mother,  was  an  object  of  interest  to 
James.  They  persuaded  her  to  go  home  with 
them,  warmed  her  by  the  kitchen  fire,  gave  her 
a  good  supper,  and  took  her  with  them  into  the 
sitting-room. 

"  Take  that  nigger  out  of  my  sight,"  was  Mrs. 
Bellmont's  command,  before  they  could  be 
seated. 

James  led  her  into  Aunt  Abby's,  where  he 
knew  they  were  welcome.  They  chatted  awhile 
until  Frado  seemed  cheerful ;  then  James  led 
her  to  her  room,  and  waited  until  she  retired. 

"Are  you  glad  I've  come  home?"  asked 
James. 

"  Yes ;  if  you  won't  let  me  be  whipped  to 


morrow." 


"You  won't  be  whipped.     You  must  try  to 
be  a  good  girl,"  counselled  James. 


OUR     N  I  G.  51 

"  If  I  do,  I  get  whipped  ; "  sobbed  the  child. 
"  They  won't  believe  what  I  say.  Oh,  I  wish  I 
had  my  mother  back ;  then  I  should  not  be 
kicked  and  whipped  so.  Who  made  me  so  ?  " 

"  God ; "  answered  James. 

"Did  God  make  you?" 

«  Yes." 

"  Who  made  Aunt  Abby  ?  " 

«  God." 

"  Who  made  your  mother  ?  " 

"God." 

"  Did  the  same  God  that  made  her  make 
me?" 

«  Yes." 

"Well,  then,  I  don't  like  him." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  he  made  her  white,  and  me  black. 
Why  didn't  he  make  us  loth  white  ? " 

"I  don't  know;  try  to  go  to  sleep,  and  you 
will  feel  better  in  the  morning,"  was  all  the  re 
ply  he  could  make  to  her  knotty  queries.  It 
was  a  long  time  before  she  fell  asleep;  and  a 
number  of  days  before  James  felt  in  a  mood  to 
visit  and  entertain  old  associates  and  friends. 


52 


CHAPTER  Y. 

DEPARTURES. 

Life  is  a  strange  avenue  of  various  trees  and  flowers ; 

Lightsome  at  commencement,  but  darkening  to  its  end  in  a  distant, 

massy  portal. 

It  beginneth  as  a  little  path,  edged  with  the  violet  and  primrose, 
A  little  path  of  lawny  grass  and  soft  to  tiny  feet. 
Soon,  spring  thistles  in  the  way. 

TUPPER. 

JAMES'  visit  concluded.  Frado  had  become 
greatly  attached  to  him,  and  with  sorrow  she 
listened  and  joined  in  the  farewells  which  pre 
ceded  his  exit.  The  remembrance  of  his  kind 
ness  cheered  her  through  many  a  weary  month, 
and  an  occasional  word  to  her  in  letters  to  Jack, 
were  like  u  cold  waters  to  a  thirsty  soul."  In 
telligence  came  that  James  would  soon  marry ; 
Frado  hoped  he  would,  and  remove  her  from 
such  severe  treatment  as  she  was  subject  to. 
There  had  been  additional  burdens  laid  on  her 
since  his  return.  She  must  now  milk  the  cows, 
she  had  then  only  to  drive.  Flocks  of  sheep 
had  been  added  to  the  farm,  which  daily  claimed 


OUR     NIG.  53 

• 

a  portion  of  her  time.  In  the  absence  of  the 
men,  she  must  harness  the  horse  for  Mary  and 
her  mother  to  ride,  go  to  mill,  in  short,  do  the 
work  of  a  boy,  could  one  be  procured  to  endure 
the  tirades  of  Mrs.  Bellinont.  She  was  first  up 
in  the  morning,  doing  what  she  could  towards 
breakfast.  Occasionally,  she  would  utter  some 
funny  thing  for  Jack's  benefit,  while  she  was 
waiting  on  the  table,  provoking  a  sharp  look 
from  his  mother,  or  expulsion  from  the  room. 

On  one  such  occasion,  they  found  her  on  the 
roof  of  the  barn.  Some  repairs  having  been 
necessary,  a  staging  had  been  erected,  and  was 
not  wholly  removed.  Availing  herself  of  lad 
ders,  she  was  mounted  in  high  glee  on  the  top 
most  board.  Mr.  Bellmont  called  sternly  for  her 
to  come  down ;  poor  Jane  nearly  fainted  from 
fear.  Mrs.  B.  and  Mary  did  not  care  if  she 
"broke  her  neck,"  while  Jack  and  the  men 
laughed  at  her  fearlessness.  Strange,  one  spark 
of  playfulness  could  remain  amid  such  constant 
toil;  but  her  natural  temperament  was  in  a 
high  degree  mirthful,  and  the  encouragement 
she  received  from  Jack  and  the  hired  men,  con 
stantly  nurtured  the  inclination.  When  she  had 
5* 


54  OUR     NIG. 

none  of  the  family  around  to  be  merry  with, 
she  would  amuse  herself  with  the  animals. 
Among  the  sheep  was  a  willful  leader,  who  al 
ways  persisted  in  being  first  served,  and  many 
times  in  his  fury  he  had  thrown  down  Nig,  till, 
provoked,  she  resolved  to  punish  him.  The  pas 
ture  in  which  the  sheep  grazed  was  bounded  on 
three  sides  by  a  wide  stream,  which  flowed  on 
one  side  at  the  base  of  precipitous  banks.  The 
first  spare  moments  at  her  command,  she  ran  to 
the  pasture  with  a  dish  in  her  hand,  and  mount 
ing  the  highest  point  of  land  nearest  the  stream, 
called  the  flock  to  their  mock  repast.  Mr  Bell- 
mont,  with  his  laborers,  were  in  sight,  though 
unseen  by  Frado.  They  paused  to  see  what  she 
was  about  to  do.  Should  she  by  any  mishap 
lose  her  footing,  she  must  roll  into  the  stream, 
and,  without  aid,  must  drown.  They  thought  of 
shouting ;  but  they  feared  an  unexpected  salute 
might  startle  her,  and  thus  ensure  what  they 
were  anxious  to  prevent.  They  watched  in 
breathless  silence.  The  willful  sheep  came  furi 
ously  leaping  and  bounding  far  in  advance  of 
the  flock.  Just  as  he  leaped  for  the  dish,  she 
suddenly  jumped  one  side,  when  down  he  rolled 


OUR     N  I  G.  55 

into  the  river,  and  swimming  across,  remained 
alone  till  night.  The  men  lay  down,  convulsed 
with  laughter  at  the  trick,  and  guessed  at  once 
its  object.  Mr.  Bellmont  talked  seriously  to  the 
child  for  exposing  herself  to  such  danger ;  but 
she  hopped  about  on  her  toes,  and  with  laugha 
ble  grimaces  replied,  she  knew  she  was  quick 
enough  to  u  give  him  a  slide." 

But  to  return.  James  married  a  Baltimorean 
lady  of  wealthy  parentage,  an  indispensable 
requisite,  his  mother  had  always  taught  him. 
He  did  not  marry  her  wealth,  though ;  he  loved 
her,  sincerely.  She  was  not  unlike  his  sister 
Jane,  who  had  a  social,  gentle,  loving  nature, 
rather  too  yielding,  her  brother  thought.  His 
Susan  had  a  firmness  which  Jane  needed  to 
complete  her  character,  but  which  her  ill  health 
may  in  a  measure  have  failed  to  produce.  Al 
though  an  invalid,  she  was  not  excluded  from 
society.  Was  it  strange  she  should  seem  a  desir 
able  companion,  a  treasure  as  a  wife  ? 

Two  young  men  seemed  desirous  of  possess 
ing  her.  One  was  a  neighbor,  Henry  Eeed,  a 
tall,  spare  young  man,  with  sandy  hair,  and  blue, 
sinister  eyes.  He  seemed  to  appreciate  her 


56  OUR     NIG. 

wants,  and  watch  with  interest  her  improvement 
or  decay.  His  kindness  she  received,  and  by  it 
was  almost  won.  Her  mother  wished  her  to  en 
courage  his  attentions.  She  had  counted  the 
acres  which  were  to  be  transmitted  to  an  only 
son;  she  knew  there  was  silver  in  the  purse; 
she  would  not  have  Jane  too  sentimental. 

The  eagerness  with  which  he  amassed  wealth, 
was  repulsive  to  Jane ;  he  did  not  spare  his  per 
son  or  beasts  in  its  pursuit.  She  felt  that  to 
such  a  man  she  should  be  considered  an  incum- 
brance ;  she  doubted  if  he  would  desire  her,  if 
he  did  not  know  she  would  bring  a  handsome 
patrimony.  Her  mother,  full  in  favor  with  the 
parents  of  Henry,  commanded  her  to  accept 
him.  She  engaged  herself,  yielding  to  her 
mother's  wishes,  because  she  had  not  strength  to 
oppose  them ;  and  sometimes,  when  witness  of 
her  mother's  and  Mary's  tyranny,  she  felt  any 
change  would  be  preferable,  even  such  a  one  as 
this.  She  knew  her  husband  should  be  the  man 
of  her  own  selecting,  one  she  was  conscious  of 
preferring  before  all  others.  She  could  not  say 
this  of  Henry. 

In   this    dilemma,   a    visitor    came  to   Aunt 


OUR     NIG.  57 

Abby's  ;  one  of  her  boy-favorites,  George  Means, 
from  an  adjoining  State.  Sensible,  plain  looking, 
agreeable,  talented,  he  could  not  long  be  a 
stranger  to  any  one  who  wished  to  know  him. 
Jane  was  accustomed  to  sit  much  with  Aunt 
Abby  always ;  her  presence  now  seemed  neces 
sary  to  assist  in  entertaining  this  youthful  friend. 
Jane  was  more  pleased  with  him  each  day,  and 
silently  wished  Henry  possessed  more  refinement, 
and  the  polished  manners  of  George.  She  felt 
dissatisfied  with  her  relation  to  him.  His  calls 
while  George  was  there,  brought  their  opposing 
qualities  vividly  before  her,  and  she  found  it 
disagreeable  to  force  herself  into  those  atten 
tions  belonging  to  him.  She  received  him  ap 
parently  only  as  a  neighbor. 

George  returned  home,  and  Jane  endeavored 
to  stifle  the  risings  of  dissatisfaction,  and  had 
nearly  succeeded,  when  a  letter  came  which 
needed  but  one  glance  to  assure  her  of  its  birth 
place;  and  she  retired  for  its  perusal.  Well 
was  it  for  her  that  her  mother's  suspicion  was 
not  aroused,  or  her  curiosity  startled  to  inquire 
who  it  came  from.  After  reading  it,  she  glided 
into  Aunt  Abby's,  and  placed  it  in  her  hands, 
who  was  no  stranger  to  Jane's  trials. 


58  OUR     N  I  G. 

George  could  not  rest  after  his  return,  lie 
wrote,  until  he  had  communicated  to  Jane  the 
emotions  her  presence  awakened,  and  his  desire 
to  love  and  possess  her  as  his  own.  He  begged 
to  know  if  his  affections  were  reciprocated,  or 
could  be ;  if  she  would  permit  him  to  write  to 
her ;  if  she  was  free  from  all  obligation  to 
another. 

"  What  would  mother  say  ?  "  queried  Jane,  as 
she  received  the  letter  from  her  aunt. 

"  Not  much  to  comfort  you." 

"  Now,  aunt,  George  is  just  such  a  man  as  I 
could  really  love,  I  think,  from  all  I  have  seen 
of  him;  you  know  I  never  could  say  that  of 
Henry  "  — 

"Then  don't  marry  him,"  interrupted  Aunt 
Abby. 

"  Mother  will  make  me." 

"  Your  father  wo  n't." 

"Well,  aunt,  what  can  I  do?  Would  you 
answer  the  letter,  or  not  ?  " 

"  Yes,  answer  it.     Tell  him  your  situation." 

"  I  shall  not  tell  him  all  my  feelings." 

Jane  answered  that  she  had  enjoyed  his  com 
pany  much ;  she  had  seen  nothing  offensive  in 


OUR     N  I  G.  59 

his  manner  or  appearance ;  that  she  was  under 
no  obligations  which  forbade  her  receiving  let 
ters  from  him  as  a  friend  and  acquaintance. 
George  was  puzzled  by  the  reply.  He  wrote  to 
Aunt  Abby,  and  from  her  learned  all.  He 
could  not  see  Jane  thus  sacrificed,  without  mak 
ing  an  effort  to  rescue  her.  Another  visit  fol 
lowed.  George  heard  Jane  say  she  preferred 
him.  He  then  conferred  with  Henry  at  his 
home.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  subject  to  talk 
upon.  To  be  thus  supplanted,  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  He  would  sacrifice  everything  but 
his  inheritance  to  secure  his  betrothed. 

"  And  so  you  are  the  cause  of  her  late  cold 
ness  towards  me.  Leave  !  I  will  talk  no  more 
about  it;  the  business  is  settled  between  us; 
there  it  will  remain/'  said  Henry. 

66  Have  you  no  wish  to  know  the  real  state  of 
Jane's  affections  towards  you  ?  "  asked  George. 

66  No  !  Go,  I  say !  go  !  "  and  Henry  opened 
the  door  for  him  to  pass  out. 

He  retired  to  Aunt  Abby's.  Henry  soon  fol 
lowed,  and  presented  his  cause  to  Mrs.  Bellmont. 

Provoked,  surprised,  indignant,  she  summoned 
Jane  to  her  presence,  and  after  a  lengthy  tirade 


60  0  U  R     N  I  G  . 

upon  Nab,  and  her  satanic  influence,  told  her 
she  could  not  break  the  bonds  which  held  her 
to  Henry ;  she  should  not.  George  Means  was 
rightly  named ;  he  was,  truly,  mean  enough ; 
she  knew  his  family  of  old  ;  his  father  had  four 
wives,  and  five  times  as  many  children. 

"  Go  to  your  room,  Miss  Jane,"  she  continued. 
"  Do  n't  let  me  know  of  your  being  in  Nab's  for 
one  while." 

The  storm  was  now  visible  to  all  beholders. 
Mr.  Bellmont  sought  Jane.  She  told  him  her  ob 
jections  to  Henry ;  showed  him  George's  letter ; 
told  her  answer,  the  occasion  of  his  visit.  He 
bade  her  not  make  herself  sick;  he  would  see 
that  she  was  not  compelled  to  violate  her  free 
choice  in  so  important  a  transaction.  He  then 
sought  the  two  young  men ;  told  them  he  could 
not  as  a  father  see  his  child  compelled  to  an  un 
congenial  union ;  a  free,  voluntary  choice  was  of 
such  importance  to  one  of  her  health.  She  must 
be  left  free  to  her  own  choice. 

Jane  sent  Henry  a  letter  of  dismission ;  he  her 
one  of  a  legal  bearing,  in  which  he  balanced  his 
disappointment  by  a  few  hundreds. 

To  brave  her  mother's  fury,  nearly  overcame 


OURNIG.  61 

her,  but  the  consolations  of  a  kind  father  and 
aunt  cheered  her  on.  After  a  suitable  interval 
she  was  married  to  George,  and  removed  to  his 
home  in  Vermont.  Thus  another  light  disap 
peared  from  Nig's  horizon.  Another  was  soon  to 
follow.  Jack  was  anxious  to  try  his  skill  in  pro 
viding  for  his  own  support;  so  a  situation  as 
clerk  in  a  store  was  procured  in  a  Western  city, 
and  six  months  after  Jane's  departure,  was  Nig 
abandoned  to  the  tender  mercies  of  Mary  and 
her  mother.  As  if  to  remove  the  last  vestige  of 
earthly  joy,  Mrs.  Bellmont  sold  the  companion  and 
pet  of  Frado,  the  dog  Fido. 


62 


CHAPTER    VI. 


VARIETIES. 


"  Hard  are  life's  early  steps ;  and  but  that  youth  is  buoyant,  con 
fident,  and  strong  in  hope,  men  would  behold  its  threshold  and 
despair." 


THE  sorrow  of  Frado  was  very  great  for  her 
pet,  and  Mr.  Bellmont  by  great  exertion  obtained 
it  again,  much  to  the  relief  of  the  child.  To  be 
thus  deprived  of  all  her  sources  of  pleasure  was  a 
sure  way  to  exalt  their  worth,  and  Fido  became, 
in  her  estimation,  a  more  valuable  presence  than 
the  human  beings  who  surrounded  her. 

James  had  now  been  married  a  number  of 
years,  and  frequent  requests  for  a  visit  from  the 
family  were  at  last  accepted,  and  Mrs.  Bellmont 
made  great  preparations  for  a  fall  sojourn  in 
Baltimore.  Mary  was  installed  housekeper  —  in 
name  merely,  for  Nig  was  the  only  moving  power 
in  the  house.  Although  suffering  from  their  joint 
severity,  she  felt  safer  than  to  be  thrown  wholly 


0  U  B      X  I  G  .  63 

upon  an  ardent,  passionate,  unrestrained  young 
lady,  whom  she  always  hated  and  felt  it  hard  to 
be  obliged  to  obey.  The  trial  she  must  meet. 
Were  Jack  or  Jane  at  home  she  would  have  some 
refuge ;  one  only  remained  ;  good  Aunt  Abby 
was  still  in  the  house. 

She  saw  the  fast  receding  coach  which  con 
veyed  her  master  and  mistress  with  regret,  and 
begged  for  one  favor  only,  that  James  would 
send  for  her  when  they  returned,  a  hope  she  had 
confidently  cherished  all  these  five  years. 

She  was  now  able  to  do  all  the  washing,  iron 
ing,  baking,  and  the  common  et  cetera  of  house 
hold  duties,  though  but  fourteen.  Mary  left  all 
for  her  to  do,  though  she  affected  great  responsi 
bility.  She  would  show  herself  in  the  kitchen 
long  enough  to  relieve  herself  of  some  command, 
better  withheld  ;  or  insist  upon  some  compliance 
to  her  wishes  in  some  department  which  she  was 
very  imperfectly  acquainted  with,  very  much  less 
than  the  person  she  was  addressing ;  and  so  im 
petuous  till  her  orders  were  obeyed,  that  to 
escape  the  turmoil,  Nig  would  often  go  contrary 
to  her  own  knowledge  to  gain  a  respite. 

Nig  was  taken  sick !     What   could   be  done 


64  0  U  R      N  IG  . 

The  work,  certainly,  but  not  by  Miss  Mary.  So 
Nig  would  work  while  she  could  remain  erect, 
then  sink  down  upon  the  floor,  or  a  chair, 
till  she  could  rally  for  a  fresh  effort.  Mary  would 
look  in  upon  her,  chide  her  for  her  laziness, 
threaten  to  tell  mother  when  she  came  home, 
and  so  forth. 

"Nig!"  screamed  Mary,  one  of  her  sickest 
days,  "  come  here,  and  sweep  these  threads  from 
the  carpet."  She  attempted  to  drag  her  weary 
limbs  along,  using  the  broom  as  support.  Impa 
tient  of  delay,  she  called  again,  but  with  a  differ 
ent  request.  "  Bring  me  some  wood,  you  lazy 
jade,  quick."  Nig  rested  the  broom  against  the 
wall,  and  started  on  the  fresh  behest. 

Too  long  gone.  Flushed  with  anger,  she  rose 
and  greeted  her  with,  "  What  are  you  gone  so 
long,  for  ?  Bring  it  in  quick,  I  say." 

66 1  am  coming  as  quick  as  I  can,"  she  replied, 
entering  the  door. 

"  Saucy,  impudent  nigger,  you  !  is  this  the  way 
you  answer  me  ? "  and  taking  a  large  carving 
knife  from  the  table,  she  hurled  it,  in  her  rage, 
at  the  defenceless  girl. 

Dodging  quickly,  it  fastened  in  the  ceiling  a 


OUR      N  IG  .  65 

few  inches  from  where  she  stood.  There  rushed 
on  Mary's  mental  vision  a  picture  of  bloodshed, 
in  which  she  was  the  perpetrator,  and  the  sad 
consequences  of  what  was  so  nearly  an  actual 
occurrence. 

"  Tell  anybody  of  this,  if  you  dare.  If  you  tell 
Aunt  Abby,  I  '11 .  certainly  kill  you,"  said  she, 
terrified.  She  returned  to  her  room,  brushed 
her  threads  herself;  was  for  a  day  or  two  more 
guarded,  and  so  escaped  deserved  and  merited 
penalty. 

Oh,  how  long  the  weeks  seemed  which  held 
Nig  in  subjection  to  Mary;  but  they  passed  like 
all  earth's  sorrows  and  joys.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B. 
returned  delighted  with  their  visit,  and  laden 
with  rich  presents  for  Mary.  No  word  of  hope 
for  Nig.  James  was  quite  unwell,  and  would 
come  home  the  next  spring  for  a  visit. 

This,  thought  Nig,  will  be  my  time  of  release. 
I  shall  go  back  with  him. 

From  early  dawn  until  after  all  were  retired, 
was  she  toiling,  overworked,  disheartened,  long 
ing  for  relief. 

Exposure  from  heat  to  cold,  or  the  reverse, 
often  destroyed  her  health  for  short  intervals. 
6* 


66  0  U  R      NI  G  . 

She  wore  no  shoes  until  after  frost,  and  snow 
even,  appeared ;  and  bared  her  feet  again  before 
the  last  vestige  of  winter  disappeared.  These 
sudden  changes  she  was  so  illy  guarded  against, 
nearly  conquered  her  physical  system.  Any 
word  of  complaint  was  severely  repulsed  or  cru 
elly  punished. 

She  was  told  she  had  much  more  than  she 
deserved.  So  that  manual  labor  was  not  in 
reality  her  only  burden ;  but  such  an  incessant 
torrent  of  scolding  and  boxing  and  threatening, 
was  enough  to  deter  one  of  maturer  years  from 
remaining  within  sound  of  the  strife. 

It  is  impossible  to  give  an  impression  of  the 
manifest  enjoyment  of  Mrs.  B.  in  these  kitchen 
scenes.  It  was  her  favorite  exercise  to  enter 
the  appartment  noisily,  vociferate  orders,  give 
a  few  sudden  blows  to  quicken  Nig's  pace,  then 
return  to  the  sitting  room  with  such  a  satis 
fied  expression,  congratulating  herself  upon  her 
thorough  house-keeping  qualities. 

She  usually  rose  in  the  morning  at  the  ring 
ing  of  the  bell  for  breakfast ;  if  she  were  heard 
stirring  before  that  time,  Nig  knew  well  there 
was  an  extra  amount  of  scolding  to  be  borne. 


OUR      N  I  G.  67 

No  one  now  stood  between  herself  and  Frado, 
but  Aunt  Abby.  And  if  she  dared  to  interfere 
in  the  least,  she  was  ordered  back  to  her  "  own 
quarters."  Nig  would  creep  slyly  into  her 
room,  learn  what  she  could  of  her  regarding  the 
absent,  and  thus  gain  some  light  in  the  thick 
gloom  of  care  and  toil  and  sorrow  in  which  she 
was  immersed. 

The  first  of  spring  a  letter  came  from  James, 
announcing  declining  health.  He  must  try 
northern  air  as  a  restorative ;  so  Frado  joyfully 
prepared  for  this  agreeable  increase  of  the  family, 
this  addition  to  her  cares. 

He  arrived  feeble,  lame,  from  his  disease,  so 
changed  Frado  wept  at  his  appearance,  fearing 
he  would  be  removed  from  her  forever.  He 
kindly  greeted  her,  took  her  to  the  parlor  to  see 
his  wife  and  child,  and  said  many  things  to  kindle 
smiles  on  her  sad  face. 

Frado  felt  so  happy  in  his  presence,  so  safe 
from  maltreatment !  He  was  to  her  a  shelter. 
He  observed,  silently,  the  ways  of  the  house  a 
few  days ;  Nig  still  took  her  meals  in  the  same 
manner  as  formerly,  having  the  same  allowance 


68  OUR      NIG. 

of  food.  He,  one  day,  bade  her  not  remove  the 
food,  but  sit  down  to  the  table  and  eat. 

"  She  witt,  mother,"  said  he,  calmly,  but  impera 
tively  ;  I  'm  determined  ;  she  works  hard  ;  I've 
watched  her.  Now,  while  I  stay,  she  is  going  to 
sit  down  here,  and  eat  such  food  as  we  eat." 

A  few  sparks  from  the  mother's  black  eyes 
were  the  only  reply ;  she  feared  to  oppose  where 
she  knew  she  could  not  prevail.  So  Nig's  stand 
ing  attitude,  and  selected  diet  vanished. 

Her  clothing  was  yet  poor  and  scanty ;  she  was 
not  blessed  with  a  Sunday  attire  •  for  she  was 
never  permitted  to  attend  church  with  her  mis 
tress.  "  Religion  was  not  meant  for  niggers,"  she 
said ;  when  the  husband  and  brothers  were 

V 

absent,  she  would  drive  Mrs.  B.  and  Mary  there, 
then  return,  and  go  for  them  at  the  close  of  the 
service,  but  never  remain.  Aunt  Abby  would 
take  her  to  evening  meetings,  held  in  the  neigh 
borhood,  which  Mrs.  B.  never  attended ;  and  im 
part  to  her  lessons  of  truth  and  grace  as  they 
walked  to  the  place  of  prayer. 

Many  of  less  piety  would  scorn  to  present  so 
doleful  a  figure  ;  Mrs.  B.  had  shaved  her  glossy 
ringlets ;  and,  in  her  coarse  cloth  gown  and  an- 


0  UR      NI  G.  69 

cient  bonnet,  she  was  anything  but  an  enticing 
object.  But  Aunt  Abby  looked  within.  She 
saw  a  soul  to  save,  an  immortality  of  happi 
ness  to  secure. 

These  evenings  were  eagerly  anticipated  by 
Nig ;  it  was  such  a  pleasant  release  from  labor. 

Such  perfect  contrast  in  the  melody  and  pray 
ers  of  these  good  people  to  the  harsh  tones  which 
fell  on  her  ears  during  the  day. 

Soon  she  had  all  their  sacred  songs  at  com 
mand,  and  enlivened  her  toil  by  accompanying 
it  with  this  melody. 

James  encouraged  his  aunt  in  her  efforts.  He 
had  found  the  Saviour,  he  wished  to  have  Frado's 
desolate  heart  gladdened,  quieted,  sustained,  by 
His  presence.  He  felt  sure  there  were  elements 
in  her  heart  which,  transformed  and  purified  by 
the  gospel,  would  make  her  wrorthy  the  esteem 
and  friendship  of  the  world.  A  kind,  affection 
ate  heart,  native  wit,  and  common  sense,  and 
the  pertness  she  sometimes  exhibited,  he  felt  if 
restrained  properly,  might  become  useful  in 
originating  a  self-reliance  which  would  be  of  ser 
vice  to  her  in  after  years. 


70  0  U  R      N  I  G  . 

Yet  it  was  not  possible  to  compass  all  this, 
while  she  remained  where  she  was.  He  wished 
to  be  cautious  about  pressing  too  closely  her 
claims  on  his  mother,  as  it  would  increase  the 
burdened  one  he  so  anxiously  wished  to  relieve. 
He  cheered  her  on  with  the  hope  of  returning 
with  his  family,  when  he  recovered  sufficiently. 

Nig  seemed  awakened  to  new  hopes  and 
aspirations,  and  realized  a  longing  for  the  future, 
hitherto  unknown. 

To  complete  Nig's  enjoyment,  Jack  arrived 
unexpectedly.  His  greeting  was  as  hearty  to 
herself  as  to  any  of  the  family. 

"  Where  are  your  curls,  Fra  ? "  asked  Jack, 
after  the  usual  salutation. 

"  Your  mother  cut  them  off." 

"  Thought  you  were  getting  handsome,  did 
she  ?  Same  old  story,  is  it ;  knocks  and  bumps  ? 
Better  times  coming  ;  never  fear,  Nig." 

How  different  this  appellative  sounded  from 
him  ;  he  said  it  in  such  a  tone,  with  such  a 
rogueish  look ! 

She  laughed,  and  replied  that  he  had  better 
take  her  West  for  a  housekeeper. 

Jack  was  pleased  with  James's  innovations  of 


OUR      NIG.  71 

table  discipline,  and  would  often  tarry  in  the 
dining-room,  to  see  Nig  in  her  new  place  at  the 
family  table.  As  he  was  thus  sitting  one  day, 
after  the  family  had  finished  dinner,  Frado  seated 
herself  in  her  mistress'  chair,  and  was  just 
reaching  for  a  clean  dessert  plate  which  was  on 
the  table,  when  her  mistress  entered. 

"  Put  that  plate  down ;  you  shall  not  have  a 
clean  one ;  eat  from  mine,"  continued  she.  Nig 
hesitated.  To  eat  after  James,  his  wife  or  Jack, 
would  have  been  pleasant ;  but  to  be  command 
ed  to  do  what  was  disagreeable  by  her  mistress, 
because  it  was  disagreeable,  was  trying.  Quickly 
looking  about,  she  took  the  plate,  called  Fido  to 
wTash  it,  which  he  did  to  the  best  of  his  ability ; 
then,  wiping  her  knife  and  fork  on  the  cloth,  she 
proceeded  to  eat  her  dinner. 

Nig  never  looked  toward  her  mistress  during 
the  process.  She  had  Jack  near ;  she  did  not 
fear  her  now. 

Insulted,  full  of  rage,  Mrs.  Bellmont  rushed  to 
her  husband,  and  commanded  him  to  notice 
this  insult ;  to  whip  that  child ;  if  he  would  not 
do  it,  James  ought. 

James  came  to  hear  the  kitchen  version  of  the 


72  0  UR      N  IG. 

affair.  Jack  was  boiling  over  with  laughter.  He 
related  all  the  circumstances  to  James,  and 
pulling  a  bright,  silver  half-dollar  from  his 
pocket,  he  threw  it  at  Nig,  saying,  "  There,  take 
that ;  't  was  worth  paying  for." 

James  sought  his  mother ;  told  her  he  "  would 
not  excuse  or  palliate  Nig's  impudence  ;  but  she 
should  not  be  whipped  or  be  punished  at  all. 
You  have  not  treated  her,  mother,  so  as  to  gain 
her  love ;  she  is  only  exhibiting  your  remissness 
in  this  matter." 

•  She  only  smothered  her  resentment  until  a 
convenient  opportunity  offered.  The  first  time 
she  was  left  alone  with  Nig,  she  gave  her  a 
thorough  beating,  to  bring  up  arrearages ;  and 
threatened,  if  she  ever  exposed  her  to  James, 
she  would  "  cut  her  tongue  out." 

James  found  her,  upon  his  return,  sobbing ; 
but  fearful  of  revenge,  she  dared  not  answer  his 
queries.  He  guessed  their  cause,  and  longed  for 
returning  health  to  take  her  under  his  pro 
tection. 


CHAPTEE    VII. 

SPIRITUAL     CONDITION     OF     NIG. 

"  What  are  our  joys  but  dreams  ?  and  what  our  hopes 
But  goodly  shadows  in  the  summer  cloud  ?  " 

H.  K.  W. 

JAMES  did  not  improve  as  was  hoped.  Month 
after  month  passed  away,  and  brought  no  pros 
pect  of  returning  health.  He  could  not  walk 
far  from  the  house  for  want  of  strength ;  but  he 
loved  to  sit  with  Aunt  Abby  in  her  quiet  room, 
talking  of  unseen  glories,  and  heart-experiences, 
while  planning  for  the  spiritual  benefit  of  those 
around  them.  In  these  confidential  interviews, 
Frado  was  never  omitted.  They  would  discuss 
the  prevalent  opinion  of  the  public,  that  people 
of  color  are  really  inferior ;  incapable  of  cultiva 
tion  and  refinement.^  They  would  glance  at  the 
qualities  of  Nig,  which  promised  so  much  if 
rightly  directed.  "  I  wish  you  would  take  her, 
James,  when  you  are  well,  home  with  you"  said 
Aunt  Abby,  in  one  of  these  seasons. 
7 


74  0  U  R      N  I  G  .  • 

"  Just  what  I  am  longing  to  do.  Aunt  Abby. 
Susan  is  just  of  my  mind,  and  we  intend  to  take 
her ;  I  have  been  wishing  to  do  so  for  years." 

"  She  seems  much  affected  by  what  she  hears 
at  the  evening  meetings,  and  asks  me  many 
questions  on  serious  things ;  seems  to  love  to 
read  the  Bible  ;  I  feel  hopes  of  her." 

"I  hope  she  is  thoughtful;  no  one  has  a  kinder 
heart,  one  capable  of  loving  more  devotedly. 
But  to  think  how  prejudiced  the  world  are  to 
wards  her  people  ;  that  she  must  be  reared  in 
such  ignorance  as  to  drown  all  the  finer  feelings. 
When  I  think  of  what  she  might  be,  of  what  she 
will  be,  I  feel  like  grasping  time  till  opinions 
change,  and  thousands  like  her  rise  into  a  noble 
freedom.  I  have  seen  Frado's  grief,  because  she 
is  black,  amount  to  agony.  It  makes  me  sick  to 
recall  these  scenes.  Mother  pretends  to  think 
she  don't  know  enough  to  sorrow  for  anything ; 
but  if  she  could  see  her  as  I  have,  when  she  sup 
posed  herself  entirely  alone,  except  her  little  dog 
Fido,  lamenting  her  loneliness  and  complexion,  I 
think,  if  she  is  not  past  feeling,  she  would  retract. 
In  the  summer  I  was  walking  near  the  barn,  and 
as  I  stood  I  heard  sobs.  <0h!  oh!'  I  heard ? 


OUR      NIG.  75 

'  why  was  I  made  ?  why  can 't  I  die  ?  Oh,  what 
have  I  to  live  for  ?  No  one  cares  for  me  only  to 
get  my  work.  And  I  feel  sick ;  who  cares  for 
that  ?  Work  as  long  as  I  can  stand,  and  then 
fall  down  and  lay  there  till  I  can  get  up.  No 
mother,  father,  brother  or  sister  to  care  for  me, 
and  then  it  is,  You  lazy  nigger,  lazy  nigger  —  all 
because  I  am  black  !  Oh,  if  I  could  die  ! ' 

"  I  stepped  into  the  barn,  where  I  could  see 
her.  She  was  crouched  down  by  the  hay  with 
her  faithful  friend  Fido,  and  as  she  ceased  speak 
ing,  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  cried  bit 
terly  ;  then,  patting  Fido,  she  kissed  him,  saying, 
6  You  love  me,  Fido,  don't  you  ?  but  we  must  go 
work  in  the  field.'  She  started  on  her  mission ; 
I  called  her  to  me,  and  told  her  she  need  not  go, 
the  hay  was  doing  well. 

"She  has  such  confidence  in  me  that  she  will 
do  just  as  I  tell  her ;  so  we  found  a  seat  under 
a  shady  tree,  and  there  I  took  the  opportunity  to 
combat  the  notions  she  seemed  to  entertain 
respecting  the  loneliness  of  her  condition  and 
want  of  sympathizing  friends.  I  assured  her  that 
mother's  views  were  by  no  means  general ;  that 
in  our  part  of  the  country  there  were  thousands 


76  OUE      NIG. 

tfpon  thousands  who  favored  the  elevation  of 
her  race,  disapproving  of  oppression  in  all  its 
forms ;  that  she  was  not  unpitied,  friendless,  and 
utterly  despised ;  that  she  might  hope  for  better 
things  in  the  future.  Having,  spoken  these 
words  of  comfort,  I  rose  with  the  resolution  that 
if  I  recovered  my  health  I  would  take  her  home 
with  me,  whether  mother  was  willing  or  not." 

"I  don't  know  what  your  mother  would  do 
without  her ;  still,  I  wish  she  was  away." 

Susan  now  came  for  her  long  absent  husband, 
and  they  returned  home  to  their  room. 

The  month  of  November  was  one  of  great 
anxiety  on  James's  account.  He  was  rapidly 
wasting  away. 

A  celebrated  physician  was  called,  and  per 
formed  a  surgical  operation,  as  a  last  means. 
Should  this  fail,  there  was  no  hope.  Of  course 
he  was  confined  wholly  to  his  room,  mostly  to 
his  bed.  With  all  his  bodily  suffering,  all  his 
anxiety  for  his  family,  whom  he  might  not  live 
to  protect,  he  did  not  forget  Frado.  He  shielded 
her  from  many  beatings,  and  every  day  imparted 
religious  instructions.  No  one,  but  his  wife, 
could  move  him  so  easily  as  Frado ;  so  that  in 


OUR      N  I  G.  77 

addition  to  her  daily  toil  she  was  often  deprived 
of  her  rest  at  night. 

Yet  she  insisted  on  being  called ;  she  wished 
to  show  her  love  for  one  who  had  been  such  a 
friend  to  her.  Her  anxiety  and  grief  increased 
as  the  probabilities  of  his  recovery  became 
doubtful. 

Mrs.  Bellmont  found  her  weeping  on  his  ac 
count,  shut  her  up,  and  whipped  her  with  the 
raw-hide,  adding  an  injunction  never  to  be  seen 
snivelling  again  because  she  had  a  little  work  to 
do.  She  was  very  careful  never  to  shed  tears  on 
his  account,  in  her  presence,  afterwards. 


78 


CHAPTEK    VIIL 

VISITOR    AND     DEPARTURE. 

—  "  Other  cares  engross  me,  and  my  tired  soul  with  emulative  haste, 
Looks  to  its  God." 

THE  brother  associated  with  James  in  business, 
in  Baltimore,  was  sent  for  to  confer  with  one 
who  might  never  be  able  to  see  him  there. 

James  began  to  speak  of  life  as  closing ;  of 
heaven,  as  of  a  place  in  immediate  prospect ;  of 
aspirations,  which  waited  for  fruition  in  glory. 
His  brother,  Lewis  by  name,  was  an  especial  fa 
vorite  of  sister  Mary  ;  more  like  her,  in  disposi 
tion  and  preferences  than  James  or  Jack. 

He  arrived  as  soon  as  possible  after  the  re 
quest,  and  saw  with  regret  the  sure  indications 
of  fatality  in  his  sick  brother,  and  listened  to  his 
admonitions  —  admonitions  to  a  Christian  life  — 
with  tears,  and  uttered  some  promises  of  atten 
tion  to  the  subject  so  dear  to  the  heart  of 
James. 

How  gladly  he  would  have  extended  healing 


0  UR      N  I  G.  79 

aid.  But,  alas  !  it  was  not  in  his  power ;  so, 
after  listening  to  his  wishes  and  arrangements 
for  his  family  and  business,  he  decided  to  return 
home. 

Anxious  for  company  home,  he  persuaded  his 
father  and  mother  to  permit  Mary  to  attend  him. 
She  was  not  at  all  needed  in  the  sick  room ;  she 
did  not  choose  to  be  useful  in  the  kitchen,  and 
then  she  was  fully  determined  to  go. 

So  all  the  trunks  were  assembled  and  cram 
med  with  the  best  selections  from  the  wardrobe 
of  herself  and  mother,  where  the  last-mentioned 
articles  could  be  appropriated. 

"  Nig  was  never  so  helpful  before,"  Mary  re 
marked,  and  wondered  what  had  induced  such  a 
change  in  place  of  former  sullenness. , 

Nig  was  looking  further  than  the  present,  and 
congratulating  herself  upon  some  days  of  peace, 
for  Mary  never  lost  opportunity  of  informing 
her  mother  of  Nig's  delinquincies,  were  she 
otherwise  ignorant. 

Was  it  strange  if  she  were  officious,  with  such 
relief  in  prospect  ? 

The  parting  from  the  sick  brother  was  tearful 
and  sad.  James  prayed  in  their  presence  for 


80  0  U  E      N  I  G  . 

their  renewal  in  holiness;  and  urged  their  im 
mediate  attention  to  eternal  realities,  and  gained 
a  promise  that  Susan  and  Charlie  should  share 
their  kindest  regards. 

No  sooner  were  they  on  their  way,  than  Nig 
slyly  crept  round  to  Aunt  Abby's  room,  and  tip 
toeing  and  twisting  herself  into  all  shapes,  she 
exclaimed,  — 

"  She 's  gone,  Aunt  Abby,  she 's  gone,  fairly 
gone  ;"  and  jumped  up  and  down,  till  Aunt 
Abby  feared  she  would  attract  the  notice  of  her 
mistress  by  such  demonstrations. 

"  Well,  she 's  gone,  gone,  Aunt  Abby.  I  hope 
she'll  never  come  back  again." 

"  No  !  no !  Frado,  that 's  wrong  !  you  would 
be  wishing  her  dead  ;  that  won't  do." 

"  Well,  I'll  bet  she  '11  never  come  back  again  ; 
somehow,  I  feel  as  though  she  would  n't." 

"She   is    James's   sister,"   remonstrated   Aunt 
Abby. 

"  So  is  our  cross  sheep  just  as  much,  that  I 
ducked  in  the  river ;  I  'd  like  to  try  my  hand  at 
curing  her  too." 

"  But  you  forget  what  our  good  minister  told 
us  last  week,  about  doing  good  to  those  that 
hate  us." 


OUK      NIG.  81 

"  Did  n't  I  do  good,  Aunt  Abby,  when  I  washed 
and  ironed  and  packed  her  old  duds  to  get  rid 
of  her,  and  helped  her  pack  her  trunks,  and  run 
here  and  there  for  her  ?  " 

u  Well,  well,  Frado ;  you  must  go  finish  your 
work,  or  your  mistress  will  be  after  you,  and 
remind  you  severely  of  Miss  Mary,  and  some 
others  beside." 

Nig  went  as  she  was  told,  and  her  clear  voice 
was  heard  as  she  went,  singing  in  joyous  notes 
the  relief  she  felt  at  the  removal  of  one  of  her 
tormentors. 

Day  by  day  the  quiet  of  the  sick  man's  room 
was  increased.  He  was  helpless  and  nervous ; 
and  often  wished  change  of  position,  thereby 
hoping  to  gain  momentary  relief.  The  calls 
upon  Frado  were  consequently  more  frequent, 
her  nights  less  tranquil.  Her  health  was  im 
paired  by  lifting  the  sick  man,  and  by  drudgery 
in  the  kitchen.  Her  ill  health  she  endeavored 
to  conceal  from  James,  fearing  he  might  have 
less  repose  if  there  should  be  a  change  of  at 
tendants;  and  Mrs.  Bellmont,  she  well  knew, 
would  have  no  sympathy  for  her.  She  was  at 
last  so  much  reduced  as  to  be  unable  to  stand 


82  0  UR      N  I  G. 

erect  for  any  great  length  of  time.  She  would 
sit  at  the  table  to  wash  her  dishes ;  if  she  heard 
the  well-known  step  of  her  mistress,  she  would 
rise  till  she  returned  to  her  room,  and  then  sink 
down  for  further  rest.  Of  course  she  was  longer 
than  usual  in  completing  the  services  assigned 
her.  This  was  a  subject  of  complaint  to  Mrs. 
Bellmont;  and  Frado  endeavored  to  throw  off 
all  appearance  of  sickness  in  her  presence. 

But  it  was  increasing  upon  her,  and  she  could 
no  longer  hide  her  indisposition.  Her  mistress 
entered  one  day,  and  finding  her  seated,  com 
manded  her  to  go  to  work.  "  I  am  sick,"  replied 
Frado,  rising  and  walking  slowly  to  her  unfin 
ished  task,  "and  cannot  stand  long,  I  feel  so 
bad." 

Angry  that  she  should  venture  a  reply  to  her 
command,  she  suddenly  inflicted  a  blow  which 
lay  the  tottering  girl  prostrate  on  the  floor.  Ex 
cited  by  so  much  indulgence  of  a  dangerous  pas 
sion,  she  seemed  left  to  unrestrained  malice;  and 
snatching  a  towel,  stuffed  the  mouth  of  the  suf 
ferer,  and  beat  her  cruelly. 

Frado  hoped  she  would  end  her  misery  by 
whipping  her  to  death.  She  bore  it  with  the 


OU  R      N  I  G.  83 

hope  of  a  martyr,  that  her  misery  would  soon 
close.  Though  her  mouth  was  muffled,  and  the 
sounds  much  stifled,  there  was  a  sensible  com 
motion,  which  James'  quick  ear  detected. 

"  Call  Frado  to  come  here,"  he  said  faintly,  "  1 
have  not  seen  her  to-day." 

Susan  retired  with  the  request  to  the  kitchen, 
where  it  was  evident  some  brutal  scene  had  just 
been  enacted. 

Mrs.  Belhnont  replied  that  she  had  "  some 
work  to  do  just  now ;  when  that  was  done,  she 
might  come." 

Susan's  appearance  confirmed  her  husband's 
fears,  and  he  requested  his  father,  who  sat  by 
the  bedside,  to  go  for  her.  This  was  a  messen 
ger,  as  James  well  knew,  who  could  not  be  de 
nied;  and  the  girl  entered  the  room,  sobbing 
and  faint  with  anguish. 

James  called  her  to  him,  and  inquired  the 
cause  of  her  sorrow.  She  was  afraid  to  expose 
the  cruel  author  of  her  misery,  lest  she  should 
provoke  new  attacks.  But  after  much  entreaty, 
she  told  him  all,  much  which  had  escaped  his 
watchful  ear.  Poor  James  shut  his  eyes  in 
silence,  as  if  pained  to  forgetfulness  by  the  re- 


84  0  U  R      N  I  G  . 

cital.  Then  turning  to  Susan,  he  asked  her  to 
take  Charlie,  and  walk  out ;  "  she  needed  the 
fresh  air/'  he  said.  "  And  say  to  mother  I  wish 
Frado  to  sit  by  me  till  you  return.  I  think  you 
are  fading,  from  staying  so  long  in  this  sick 
room."  Mr.  B.  also  left,  and  Frado  was  thus  left 
alone  with  her  friend.  Aunt  Abby  came  in  to 
make  her  daily  visit,  and  seeing  the  sick  coun 
tenance  of  the  attendant,  took  her  home  with 
her  to  administer  some  cordial.  She  soon  re 
turned,  however,  and  James  kept  her  with  him 
the  rest  of  the  day ;  and  a  comfortable  night's 
repose  following,  she  was  enabled  to  continue,  as 
usual,  her  labors.  James  insisted  on  her  attend 
ing  religious  meetings  in  the  vicinity  with  Aunt 
Abby. 

Frado,  under  the  instructions  of  Aunt  Abby 
and  the  minister,  became  a  believer  in  a  future 
existence  —  one  of  happiness  or  misery.  Her 
doubt  was,  is  there  a  heaven  for  the  black?  She 
knew  there  was  one  for  James,  and  Aunt  Abby, 
and  all  good  white  people ;  but  was  there  any 
for  blacks?  She  had  listened  attentively  to  all 
the  minister  said,  and  all  Aunt  Abby  had  told 
her ;  but  then  it  was  all  for  white  people. 


0  U  R      N  I  G  .  85 

As  James  approached  that  blessed  world,  she 
felt  a  strong  desire  to  follow,  and  be  with  one 
who  was  such  a  dear,  kind  friend  to  her. 

While  she  was  exercised  with  these  desires 
and  aspirations,  she  attended  an  evening  meet 
ing  'with  Aunt  Abby,  and  the  good  man  urged 
all,  young  or  old,  to  accept  the  offers  of  mercy, 
to  receive  a  compassionate  Jesus  as  their  Sa 
viour.  "  Come  to  Christ,"  he  urged,  "  all,  young 
or  old,  white  or  black,  bond  or  free,  come  all  to 
Christ  for  pardon  ;  repent,  believe." 

This  was  the  message  she  longed  to  hear;  it 
seemed  to  be  spoken  for  her.  But  he  had  told 
them  to  repent;  "what  was  that?"  she  asked. 
She  knew  she  was  unfit  for  any  heaven,  made 
for  whites  or  blacks.  She  would  gladly  repent, 
or  do  anything  which  would  admit  her  to  share 
the  abode  of  James. 

Her  anxiety  increased ;  her  countenance  bore 
marks  of  solicitude  unseen  before ;  and  though 
she  said  nothing  of  her  inward  contest,  they  all 
observed  a  change. 

James  and  Aunt  Abby  hoped  it  was  the 
springing  of  good  seed  sown  by  the  Spirit  of 
God.  Her  tearful  attention  at  the  last  meeting 
8 


86  OUR      NIG. 

encouraged  his  aunt  to  hope  that  her  mind  was 
awakened,  her  conscience  aroused.  Aunt  Abby 
noticed  that  she  was  particularly  engaged  in 
reading  the  Bible;  and  this  strengthened  her 
conviction  that  a  heavenly  Messenger  was  striv 
ing  with  her.  The  neighbors  dropped  in  to  in 
quire  after  the  sick,  and  also  if  Frado  was  "  seri 
ous  ?  "  They  noticed  she  seemed  very  thought 
ful  and  tearful  at  the  meetings.  Mrs.  Reed  was 
very  inquisitive ;  but  Mrs.  Bellmont  saw  no  ap 
pearance  of  change  for  the  better.  She  did  not 
feel  responsible  for  her  spiritual  culture,  and 
hardly  believed  she  had  a  soul. 

Nig  was  in  truth  suffering  much ;  her  feelings 
were  very  intense  on  any  subject,  when  once 
aroused.  She  read  her  Bible  carefully,  and  as 
often  as  an  opportunity  presented,  which  was 
when  entirely  secluded  in  her  own  apartment, 
or  by  Aunt  Abby's  side,  who  kindly  directed  her 
to  Christ,  and  instructed  her  in  the  way  of  salva 
tion. 

Mrs.  Bellmont  found  her  one  day  quietly 
reading  her  Bible.  Amazed  and  half  crediting 
the  reports  of  officious  neighbors,  she  felt  it  was 
time  to  interfere.  Here  she  was,  reading  and 


OUR      NIG.  87 

shedding  tears  over  the  Bible.  She  ordered  her 
to  put  up  the  book,  and  go  to  work,  and  not  be 
snivelling  about  the  house,  or  stop  to  read 
again. 

But  there  was  one  little  spot  seldom  penetra 
ted  by  her  mistress'  watchful  eye  :  this  was  her 
room,  uninviting  and  comfortless;  but  to  her 
self  a  safe  retreat.  Here  she  would  listen  to  the 
pleadings  of  a  Saviour,  and  try  to  penetrate  the 
veil  of  doubt  and  sin  which  clouded  her  soul, 
and  long  to  cast  off  the  fetters  of  sin,  and  rise 
to  the  communion  of  saints. 

Mrs.  Bellmont,  as  we  before  said,  did  not  trou 
ble  herself  about  the  future  destiny  of  her  ser 
vant.  If  she  did  what  she  desired  for  her  bene 
fit,  it  was  all  the  responsibility  she  acknowledged. 
But  she  seemed  to  have  great  aversion  to  the 
notice  Nig  would  attract  should  she  become 
pious.  How  could  she  meet  this  case  ?  She  re 
solved  to  make  her  complaint  to  John.  Strange, 
when  she  was  always  foiled  in  this  direction,  she 
should  resort  to  him.  It  was  time  something 
was  done;  she  had  begun  to  read  the  Bible 
openly. 

The   night   of  this   discovery,  as   they   were 


88  OUR     NIG. 

retiring,  Mrs.  Bellmont  introduced  the  conver 
sation,  by  saying : 

"  I  want  your  attention  to  what  I  am  going 
to  say.  I  have  let  Nig  go  out  to  evening  meet 
ings  a  few  times,  and,  if  you  will  believe  it,  I 
found  her  reading  the  Bible  to-day,  just  as 
though  she  expected  to  turn  pious  nigger,  and 
preach  to  white  folks.  So  now  you  see  what 
good  comes  of  sending  her  to  school.  If  she 
should  get  converted  she  would  have  to  go  to 
meeting  :  at  least,  as  long  as  James  lives.  I  wish 
he  had  not  such  queer  notions  about  her.  It 
seems  to  trouble  him  to  know  he  must  die  and 
leave  her.  He  says  if  he  should  get  well  he 
would  take  her  home  with  him,  or  educate  her 
here.  Oh,  how  awful  !  What  can  the  child 
mean  ?  So  careful,  too,  of  her !  He  says  we 
shall  ruin  her  health  making  her  work  so  hard, 
and  sleep  in  such  a  place.  0,  John !  do  you 
think  he  is  in  his  right  mind  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes ;  she  is  slender." 

"  Yes,  yes  I  "  she  repeated  sarcastically,  "  you 
know  these  niggers  are  just  like  black  snakes; 
you  can't  kill  them.  If  she  wasn't  tough  she 


0  UR      NIG.  89 

would  have  been  killed  long  ago.  There  was 
never  one  of  my  girls  could  do  half  the  work." 

"Did  they  ever  try?"  interposed  her  husband. 
"  I  think  she  can  do  more  than  all  of  them 
together." 

"  What  a  man ! "  said  she,  peevishly.  "  But  I 
want  to  know  what  is  going  to  be  done  with  her 
about  getting  pious  ?  " 

"  Let  her  do  just  as  she  has  a  mind  to.  If  it 
is  a  comfort  to  her,  let  her  enjoy  the  privilege  of 
being  good.  I  see  no  objection." 

"  I  should  think  you  were  crazy,  sure.  Do  n't 
you  know  that  every  night  she  will  want  to  go 
toting  off  to  meeting  ?  and  Sundays,  too  ?  and 
you  know  we  have  a  great  deal  of  company 
Sundays,  and  she  can't  be  spared." 

"I  thought  you  Christians  held  to  going  to 
church,"  remarked  Mr.  B. 

"  Yes,  but  who  ever  thought  of  having  a  nig 
ger  go,  except  to  drive  others  there  ?  Why, 
according  to  you  and  James,  we  should  very 
soon  have  her  in  the  parlor,  as  smart  as  our 
own  girls.  It's  of  no  use  talking  to  you  or 
James.  If  you  should  go  on  as  you  would  like, 
it  would  not  be  six  months  before  she  would  be 
8* 


90  OUR     N  I  G. 

leaving  me ;  and  that  won't  do.  Just  think  how 
much  profit  she  was  to  us  last  summer.  We 
had  no  work  hired  out ;  she  did  the  work  of  two 
girls  —  " 

"And  got  the  whippings  for  two  with  it!" 
remarked  Mr.  Bellmont. 

"I'll  beat  the  money  out  of  her,  if  I  can't  get 
her  worth  any  other  way/'  retorted  Mrs.  B. 
sharply.  While  this  scene  was  passing,  Frado 
was  trying  to  utter  the  prayer  of  the  publican, 
"  God  be  merciful  to  me  a  sinner." 


91 


CHAPTEE    IX. 

DEATH. 

We  have  now 

But  a  small  portion  of  what  men  call  time, 
To  hold  communion. 

SPRING  opened,  and  James,  instead  of  rallying, 
as  was  hoped,  grew  worse  daily.  Aunt  Abby 
and  Frado  were  the  constant  allies  of  Susan. 
Mrs.  Bellmont  dared  not  lift  him.  She  was  not 
u  strong  enough,"  she  said. 

It  was  very  offensive  to  Mrs.  B.  to  have  Nab 
about  James  so  much.  She  had  thrown  out 
many  a  hint  to  detain  her  from  so  often  visiting 
the  sick-room;  but  Aunt  Abby  was  too  well 
accustomed  to  her  ways  to  mind  them.  After 
various  unsuccessful  efforts,  she  resorted  to  the 
following  expedient.  As  she  heard  her  cross 
the  entry  below,  to  ascend  the  stairs,  she  slipped 
out  and  held  the  latch  of  the  door  which  led 
into  the  upper  entry. 

"  James  does  not  want  to  see  you,  or  any  one 
else,"  she  said. 


92  OUR      N  I  G. 

Aunt  Abby  hesitated,  and  returned  slowly  to 
her  own  room;  wondering  if  it  were  really 
James'  wish  not  to  see  her.  She  did  not  ven 
ture  again  that  day,  but  still  felt  disturbed  and 
anxious  about  him.  She  inquired  of  Frado,  and 
learned  that  he  was  no  worse.  She  asked  her  if 
James  did  not  wish  her  to  come  and  see  him ; 
what  could  it  mean  ? 

Quite  late  next  morning,  Susan  came  to  see 
what  had  become  of  her  aunt. 

"  Your  mother  said  James  did  not  wish  to  see 
me,  and  I  was  afraid  I  tired  him." 

Why,  aunt,  that  is  a  mistake,  I  Jcnoiv.  W  at 
could  mother  mean  ? "  asked  Susan. 

The  next  time  she  went  to  the  sitting-room 
she  asked  her  mother,  — 

a  Why  does  not  Aunt  Abby  visit  James  as  she 
has  done  ?  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  At  home.  I  hope  that  she  will  stay  there," 
was  the  answer. 

"  I  should  think  she  would  come  in  and  see 
James,"  continued  Susan. 

"  I  told  her  he  did  want  to  see  her,  and  to  stay 
out.  You  need  make  no  stir  about  it ;  remem 
ber  : "  she  added,  with  one  of  her  fiery  glances. 


0  UK      NI  G.  93 

Susan  kept  silence.  It  was  a  day  or  two 
before  James  spoke  of  her  absence.  The  family 
were  at  dinner,  and  Frado  was  watching  beside 
him.  He  inquired  the  cause  of  her  absence, 
and  she  told  him  all.  After  the  family  returned 
he  sent  his  wife  for  her.  When  she  entered,  he 
took  her  hand,  and  said,  "  Come  to  me  often, 
Aunt.  Come  any  time,  —  I  am  always  glad  to 
see  you.  I  have  but  a  little  longer  to  be  with 
you,  —  come  often,  Aunt.  Now  please  help  lift 
me  up,  and  see  if  I  can  rest  a  little." 

Frado  was  called  in,  and  Susan  and  Mrs.  B.  all 
attempted ;  Mrs.  B.  was  too  weak ;  she  did  not 
feel  able  to  lift  so  much.  So  the  three  suc 
ceeded  in  relieving  the  sufferer. 

Frado  returned  to  her  work.  Mrs.  B.  fol 
lowed.  Seizing  Frado,  she  said  she  would  "  cure 
her  of  tale-bearing,"  and,  placing  the  wedge  of 
wood  between  her  teeth,  she  beat  her  cruelly 
with  the  raw-hide.  Aunt  Abby  heard  the  blows, 
and  came  to  see  if  she  could  hinder  them. 

Surprised  at  her  sudden  appearance,  Mrs.  B. 
suddenly  stopped,  but  forbade  her  removing  the 
wood  till  she  gave  her  permission,  and  com 
manded  Nab  to  go  home. 


94  0  U  R     N  I  G  . 

She  was  thus  tortured  when  Mr.  Bellmont 
came  in,  and,  making  inquiries  which  she  did 
not,  because  she  could  not,  answer,  approached 
her ;  and  seeing  her  situation,  quickly  removed 
the  instrument  of  torture,  and  sought  his  wife. 
Their  conversation  we  will  omit;  suffice  it  to 
say,  a  storm  raged  which  required  many  days  to 
exhaust  its  strength. 

Frado  was  becoming  seriously  ill.  She  had 
no  relish  for  food,  and  was  constantly  over 
worked,  and  then  she  had  such  solicitude  about 
the  future.  She  wished  to  pray  for  pardon. 
She  did  try  to  pray.  Her  mistress  had  told  her 
it  would  "do  no  good  for  her  to  attempt  prayer; 
prayer  was  for  whites,  not  for  blacks.  If  she 
minded  her  mistress,  and  did  what  she  com 
manded,  it  was  all  that  was  required  of  her." 

This  did  not  satisfy  her,  or  appease  her  long 
ings.  She  knew  her  instructions  did  not  har 
monize  with  those  of  the  man  of  God  or  Aunt 
Abby's.  She  resolved  to  persevere.  She  said 
nothing  on  the  subject,  unless  asked.  It  was 
evident  to  all  her  mind  was  deeply  exercised. 
James  longed  to  speak  with  her  alone  on  the 
subject.  An  opportunity  presented  soon,  while 


OU  R     N  I  G.  95 

the  family  were  at  tea.  It  was  usual  to  sum 
mon  Aunt  Abby  to  keep  company  with  her,  as 
his  death  was  expected  hourly. 

As  she  took  her  accustomed  seat,  he  asked, 
"  Are  you  afraid  to  stay  with  me  alone,  Frado  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  replied,  and  stepped  to  the  window 
to  conceal  her  emotion. 

"  Come  here,  and  sit  by  me ;  I  wish  to  talk 
with  you." 

She  approached  him,  and,  taking  her  hand,  he 
remarked : 

"  How  poor  you  are,  Frado !  I  want  to  tell 
you  that  I  fear  I  shall  never  be  able  to  talk  with 
you  again.  It  is  the  last  time,  perhaps,  I  shall 
ever  talk  with  you.  You  are  old  enough  to 
remember  my  dying  words  and  profit  by  them. 
I  have  been  sick  a  long  time ;  I  shall  die  pretty 
soon.  My  Heavenly  Father  is  calling  me  home. 
Had  it  been  his  will  to  let  me  live  I  should  take 
you  to  live  with  me  ;  but,  as  it  is,  I  shall  go  and 
leave  you.  But,  Frado,  if  you  will  be  a  good 
girl,  and  love  and  serve  God,  it  will  be  but  a 
short  time  before  we  are  in  a  heavenly  home  to 
gether.  There  will  never  be  any  sickness  or 
sorrow  there." 


96  OUR      NIG. 

Frado,  overcome  with  grief,  sobbed,  and  buried 
her  face  in  his  pillow.  She  expected  he  would 
die;  but  to  hear  him  speak  of  his  departure  him 
self  was  unexpected. 

"Bid  me  good   bye,  Frado." 

She  kissed  him,  and  sank  on  her  knees  by 
his  bedside ;  his  hand  rested  on  her  head ;  his 
eyes  were  closed;  his  lips  moved  in  prayer 
for  this  disconsolate  child. 

His  wife  entered,  and  interpreting  the  scene, 
gave  him  some  restoratives,  and  withdrew  for 
a  short  time. 

It  was  a  great  effort  for  Frado  to  cease 
sobbing;  but  she  dared  not  be  seen  below  in 
tears ;  so  she  choked  her  grief,  and  descended 
to  her  usual  toil.  Susan  perceived  a  change 
in  her  husband.  She  felt  that  death  was  near. 

He  tenderly  looked  on  her,  and  said,  "  Susan, 
my  wife,  our  farewells  are  all  spoken.  I  feel 
prepared  to  go.  I  shall  meet  you  in  heaven. 
Death  is  indeed  creeping  fast  upon  me.  Let 
me  see  them  all  once  more.  Teach  Charlie 
the  way  to  heaven ;  lead  him  up  as  you  come." 

The  family  all  assembled.  He  could  not 
talk  as  he  wished  to  .them.  He  seemed  to 


OUR      NIG.  97 

sink  into  unconsciousness.  They  watched  him 
for  hours.  He  had  labored  hard  for  breath 
some  time,  when  he  seemed  to  awake  sud 
denly,  and  exclaimed,  "Hark!  do  you  hear 
it?" 

"Hear  what,  my  son?"  asked  the  father. 

"Their  call.  Look,  look,  at  the  shining 
ones!  Oh,  let  me  go  and  be  at  rest!" 

As  if  waiting  for  this  petition,  the  Angel  of 
Death  severed  the  golden  thread,  and  he  was 
in  heaven.  At  midnight  the  messenger  came. 

They  called  Frado  to  see  his  last  struggle. 
Sinking  on  her  knees  at  the  foot  of  his  bed, 
she  buried  her  face  in  the  clothes,  and  wept 
like  one  inconsolable.  They  led  her  from  the 
room.  She  seemed  to  be  too  much  absorbed 
to  know  it  was  necessary  for  her  to  leave. 
Next  day  she  would  steal  into  the  chamber 
as  often  as  she  could,  to  weep  over  his  remains, 
and  ponder  his  last  words  to  her.  She  moved 
about  the  house  like  an  automaton.  Every 
duty  performed — but  an  abstraction  from  all, 
which  shewed  her  thoughts  were  busied  else 
where.  Susan  wished  her  to  attend  his  burial 
as  one  of  the  family.  Lewis  and  Mary  and 
9 


98  OUR      NI  G. 

Jack  it  was  not  thought  best  to  send  for,  as 
the  season  would  not  allow  them '  time  for  the 
journey.  Susan  provided  her  with  a  dress  for 
the  occasion,  which  was  her  first  intimation 
that  she  would  be  allowed  to  mingle  her  grief 
with  others. 

The  day  of  the  burial  she  was  attired  in 
her  mourning  dress ;  but  Susan,  in  her  grief, 
had  forgotten  a  bonnet. 

She  hastily  ransacked  the  closets,  and  found 
one  of  Mary's,  trimmed  with  bright  pink  ribbon. 

It  was  too  late  to  change  the  ribbon,  and 
she  was  unwilling  to  leave  Frado  at  home ; 
she  knew  it  would  be  the  wish  of  James  she 
should  go  with  her.  So  tying  it  on,  she  said, 
"  Never  mind,  Frado,  you  shall  see  where  our 
dear  James  is  buried."  As  she  passed  out,  she 
heard  the  whispers  of  the  by-standers,  "  Look 
there !  see  there !  how  that  looks,  —  a  black 
dress  and  a  pink  ribbon ! " 

Another    time,    such    remarks    would    have 
wounded  Frado.     She  had  now  a  sorrow  with 
which  such  were  small  in  comparison. 
'    As  she  saw  his  body  lowered  in  the  grave 
she  wished  to  share  it ;  but  she  was  not  fit  to 


0  UR      NIG.  99 

die.  She  could  not  go  where  he  was  if  she 
did.  She  did  not  love  God ;  she  did  not  serve 
him  or  know  how  to. 

She  retired  at  night  to  mourn  over  her 
unfitness  for  heaven,  and  gaze  out  upon  the 
stars,  which,  she  felt,  studded  the  entrance  of 
heaven,  above  which  James  reposed  in  the 
bosom  of  Jesus,  to  which  her  desires  were  has 
tening.  She  wished  she  could  see  God,  and 
ask  him  for  eternal  life.  Aunt  Abby  had  taught 
her  that  He  was  ever  looking  upon  her.  Oh, 
if  she  could  see  him,  or  hear  him  speak  words 
of  forgiveness.  Her  anxiety  increased;  her 
health  seemed  impaired,  and  she  felt  constrained 
to  go  to  aunt  Abby  and  tell  her  all  about  her 
conflicts. 

She  received  her  like  a  returning  wanderer; 
seriously  urged  her  to  accept  of  Christ ;  ex 
plained  the  way;  read  to  her  from  the  Bible, 
and  remarked  upon  such  passages  as  applied 
to  her  state.  She  warned  her  against  stifling 
that  voice  which  was  calling  her  to  heaven ; 
echoed  the  farewell  words  of  James,  and  told 
her  to  come  to  her  with  her  difficulties,  and 


100  OUR      NIG. 

not  to  delay  a  duty  so  important  as  attention 
to  the  truths  of  religion,  and  her  soul's  interests. 

Mrs.  Bellmont  would  occasionally  give  in 
struction,  though  far  different.  She  would  tell 
her  she  could  not  go  where  James  was ;  she 
need  not  try.  If  she  should  get  to  heaven  at 
all,  she  would  never  be  as  high  up  as  he. 

He  was  the  attraction.  Should  she  "want 
to  go  there  if  she  could  not  see  him?" 

Mrs.  B.  seldom  mentioned  her  bereavement, 
unless  in  such  allusion  to  Frado.  She  donned 
her  weeds  from  custom ;  kept  close  her  crape 
veil  for  so  many  Sabbaths,  and  abated  nothing 
of  her  characteristic  harshness. 

The  clergyman  called  to  minister  consolation 
to  the  afflicted  widow  and  mother.  Aunt  Abby 
seeing  him  approach  the  dwelling,  knew  at  once 
the  object  of  his  visit,  and  followed  him  to  the 
parlor,  unasked  by  Mrs.  B !  What  a  daring 
affront !  The  good  man  dispensed  the  conso 
lations,  of  which  he  was  steward,  to  the  appar 
ently  grief-smitten  mother,  who  talked  like  one 
schooled  in  a  heavenly  atmosphere.  Such  resig 
nation  expressed,  as  might  have  graced  the  trial 
of  the  holiest.  Susan,  like  a  mute  sufferer, 


OUR      NIG.  101 

bared  her  soul  to  his  sympathy  and  godly 
counsel,  but  only  replied  to  his  questions  in 
short  syllables.  When  he  offered  prayer,  Frado 
stole  to  the  door  that  she  might  hear  of  the 
heavenly  bliss  of  one  who  was  her  friend  on 
earth.  The  prayer  caused  profuse  weeping,  as 
any  tender  reminder  of  the  heaven-born  was 
sure  to.  When  the  good  man's  voice  ceased, 
she  returned  to  her  toil,  carefully  removing  all 
trace  of  sorrow.  Her  mistress  soon  followed, 
irritated  by  Nab's  impudence  in  presenting  her 
self  unasked  in  the  parlor,  and  upraided  her 
with  indolence,  and  bade  her  apply  herself  more 
diligently.  Stung  by  unmerited  rebuke,  weak 
from  sorrow  and  anxiety,  the  tears  rolled  down 
her  dark  face,  soon  followed  by  sobs,  and  then 
losing  all  control  of  herself,  she  wept  aloud. 
This  was  an  act  of  disobedience.  Her  mistress 
grasping  her  raw-hide,  caused  a  longer  flow  of 
tears,  and  wounded  a  spirit  that  was  craving 
healing  mercies. 


102 


CHAPTER  X. 

PERPLEXITIES. ANOTHER  DEATH. 

Neath  the  billows  of  the  ocean, 
Hidden  treasures  wait  the  hand, 
That  again  to  light  shall  raise  them 
With  the  diver's  magic  wand. 

G.  W.  COOK. 

THE  family,  gathered  by  James'  decease,  re 
turned  to  their  homes.  Susan  and  Charles 
returned  to  Baltimore.  Letters  were  received 
from  the  absent,  expressing  their  sympathy 
and  grief.  The  father  bowed  like  a  "  bruised 
reed,"  under  the  loss  of  his  beloved  son.  He 
felt  desirous  to  die  the  death  of  the  righteous ; 
also,  conscious  that  he  was  unprepared,  he 
resolved  to  start  on  the  narrow  way,  and  some 
time  solicit  entrance  through  the  gate  which 
leads  to  the  celestial  city.  He  acknowledged  his 
too  ready  acquiescence  with  Mrs.  B.,  in  permit 
ting  Frado  to  be  deprived  of  her  only  religious 
privileges  for  weeks  together.  He  accordingly 


OUR      NIG.  103 

asked  his  sister  to   take  her  to  meeting  once 
rnore,  which  she  was  ready  at  once  to  do. 

The  first  opportunity  they  once  more  at 
tended  meeting  together.  The  minister  con 
versed  faithfully  with  every  person  present. 
He  was  surprised  to  find  the  little  colored  girl 
so  solicitous,  and  kindly  directed  her  to  the 
flowing  fountain  where  she  might  wash  and 
be  clean.  He  inquired  of  the  origin  of  her 
anxiety,  of  her  progress  up  to  this  time,  and 
endeavored  to  make  Christ,  instead  of  James, 
the  attraction  of  Heaven.  He  invited  her  to 
come  to  his  house,  to  speak  freely  her  mind 
to  him,  to  pray  much,  to  read  her  Bible  often. 

The  neighbors,  who  were  at  meeting, — among 
them  Mrs.  Keed,  —  discussed  the  opinions  Mrs. 
Bellmont  would  express  on  the  subject.  Mrs. 
Reed  called  and  informed  Mrs.  B.  that  her  col 
ored  girl  "  related  her  experience  the  other 
night  at  the  meeting." 

"What  experience?"  asked  she,  quickly,  as 
if  she  expected  to  hear  the  number  of  times 
she  had  whipped  Frado,  and  the  number  of 
lashes  set  forth  in  plain  Arabic  numbers. 


104  OUR      NIG. 

« Why,  you  know  she  is  serious,  don't  you  ? 
She  told  the  minister  about  it." 

Mrs.  B.  made  no  reply,  but  changed  the 
subject  adroitly.  Next  morning  she  told  Frado 
she  "  should  not  go  out  of  the  house  for  one 
while,  except  on  errands ;  and  if  she  did  not 
stop  trying  to  be  religious,  she  would  whip 
her  to  death." 

Frado  pondered ;  her  mistress  was  a  professor 
of  religion ;  was  she  going  to  heaven  ?  then  she 
did  not  wish  to  go.  If  she  should  be  near  James, 
even,  she  could  not  be  happy  with  those  fiery 
eyes  wratching  her  ascending  path.  She  resolved 
to  give  over  all  thought  of  the  future  world, 
and  strove  daily  to  put  her  anxiety  far  from 
her. 

Mr.  Bellmont  found  himself  unable  to  do  what 
James  or  Jack  could  accomplish  for  her.  He 
talked  with  her  seriously,  told  her  he  had  seen 
her  many  times  punished  undeservedly ;  he  did 
not  wish  to  have  her  saucy  or  disrespectful,  but 
when  she  was  sure  she  did  not  deserve  a  whip 
ping,  to  avoid  it  if  she  could.  u  You  are  look 
ing  sick,"  he  added,  u  you  cannot  endure  beating 
as  you  once  could/' 


OUR     NIG.  105 

It  was  not  long  before  an  opportunity  offered 
of  profiting  by  his  advice.  She  was  sent  for 
wood,  and  not  returning  as  soon  as  Mrs.  B.  cal 
culated,  she  followed  her,  and,  snatching  from 
the  pile  a  stick,  raised  it  over  her. 

"  Stop ! "  shouted  Frado,  «  strike  me,  and  I'll 
never  work  a  mite  more  for  you ; "  and  throw 
ing  down  what  she  had  gathered,  stood  like  one 
who  feels  the  stirring  of  free  and  independent 
thoughts. 

By  this  unexpected  demonstration,  her  mis 
tress,  in  amazement,  dropped  her  weapon,  desist 
ing  from  her  purpose  of  chastisement.  Frado 
walked  towards  the  house,  her  mistress  following 
with  the  wood  she  herself  was  pent  after.  She 
did  not  know,  before,  that  she  had  a  power  to 
ward  off  assaults.  Her  triumph  in  seeing  her 
enter  the  door  with  her  burden,  repaid  her  for 
much  of  her  former  suffering. 

It  was  characteristic  of  Mrs.  B.  never  to  rise 
in  her  majesty,  unless  she  was  sure  she  should 
be  victorious. 

This  affair  never  met  with  an  "  after  clap,"  like 
many  others. 

Thus   passed  a  year.     The  usual  amount  of 


106  OUR     NIG. 

scolding,  but  fewer  whippings.  Mrs.  B.  longed 
once  more  for  Mary's  return,  who  had  been 
absent  over  a  year ;  and  she  wrote  imperatively 
for  her  to  come  quickly  to  her.  A  letter  came 
in  reply,  announcing  that  she  would  comply  as 
soon  as  she  was  sufficiently  recovered  from  an 
illness  which  detained  her. 

No  serious  apprehensions  were  cherished  by 
either  parent,  who  constantly  looked  for  notice 
of  her  arrival,  by  mail.  Another  letter  brought 
tidings  that  Mary  was  seriously  ill ;  her  mother's 
presence  was  solicited. 

She  started  without  delay.  Before  she  reached 
her  destination,  a  letter  came  to  the  parents 
announcing  her  death. 

No  sooner  was  the  astounding  news  received, 
than  Frado  rushed  into  Aunt  Abby's,  exclaim 
ing:— 

"  She's  dead,  Aunt  Abby ! " 

"  Who  ? "  she  asked,  terrified  by  the  unpre 
faced  announcement. 

"Mary  ;  they  've  just  had  a  letter." 

As  Mrs.  B.  was  away,  the  brother  and  sister 
could  freely  sympathize,  and  she  sought  him  in 
this  fresh  sorrow,  to  communicate  such  solace  as 


OUR     NIG.  107 

she  could,  and  to  learn  particulars  of  Mary's 
untimely  death,  and  assist  him  in  his  journey 
thither. 

It  seemed  a  thanksgiving  to  Frado.  Every 
hour  or  two  she  would  pop  in  into  Aunt  Abby's 
room  with  some  strange  query :  - 

"She  got  into  the  river  again,  Aunt  Abby, 
did  n't  she ;  the  Jordan  is  a  big  one  to  tumble  into, 
any  how.  S'posen  she  goes  to  hell,  she  '11  be  as 
black  as  I  am.  Would  n't  mistress  be  mad  to  see 
her  a  'nigger ! "  and  others  of  a  similar  stamp, 
not  at  all  acceptable  to  the  pious,  sympathetic 
dame  ;  but  she  could  not  evade  them. 

The  family  returned  from  their  sorrowful 
journey,  leaving  the  dead  behind.  Nig  looked 
for  a  change  in  her  tyrant ;  what  could  subdue 
her,  if  the  loss  of  her  idol  could  not  ? 

Never  was  Mrs.  B.  known  to  shed  tears  so  pro 
fusely,  as  when  she  reiterated  to  one  and  another 
the  sad  particulars  of  her  darling's  sickness  and 
death.  There  was,  indeed,  a  season  of  quiet 
grief;  it  was  the  lull  of  the  fiery  elements.  A 
few  weeks  revived  the  former  tempests,  and  so 
at  variance  did  they  seem  with  chastisement 
sanctified,  that  Frado  felt  them  to  be  unbear- 


108  OUR      NIG. 

able.  She  determined  to  flee.  But  where? 
Who  would  take  her  ?  Mrs.  B.  had  always  repre 
sented  her  ugly.  Perhaps  every  one  thought 
her  so.  Then  no  one  would  take  her.  She  was 
black,  no  one  would  love  her.  She  might  have 
to  return,  and  -then  she  would  be  more  in  her 
mistress'  power  than  ever. 

She  remembered  her  victory  at  the  wood-pile. 
She  decided  to  remain  to  do  as  well  as  she  could ; 
to  assert  her  rights  when  they  were  trampled 
on ;  to  return  once  more  to  her  meeting  in 
the  evening,  which  had  been  prohibited.  She 
had  learned  how  to  conquer ;  she  would  not 
abuse  the  power  while  Mr.  Bellmont  was  at 
home. 

But  had  she  not  better  run  away  ?  Where  ? 
She  had  never  been  from  the  place  far  enough 
to  decide  what  course  to  take.  She  resolved  to 
speak  to  Aunt  Abby.  She  mapped  the  dangers 
of  her  course,  her  liability  to  fail  in  finding  so 
good  friends  as  John  and  herself.  Frado's  mind 
was  busy  for  days  and  nights.  She  contem 
plated  administering  poison  to  her  mistress,  to 
rid  herself  and  the  house  of  so  detestable  a 
plague. 


OUR     NIG.  109 

But  she  was  restrained  by  an  overruling  Prov 
idence  ;  and  finally  decided  to  stay  contentedly 
through  her  period  of  service,  which  would  ex 
pire  when  she  was  eighteen  years  of  age. 

In  a  few  months  Jane  returned  home  with  her 
family,  to  relieve  her  parents,  upon  whom  years 
and  affliction  had  left  the  marks  of  age.  The 
years  intervening  since  she  had  left  her  home, 
had,  in  some  degree,  softened  the  opposition  to 
her  unsanctioned  marriage  with  George.  The 
more  Mrs.  B.  had  about  her,  the  more  ener 
getic  seemed  her  directing  capabilities,  and  her 
fault-finding  propensities.  Her  own,  she  had  full 
power  over ;  and  Jane  after  vain  endeavors,  be 
came  disgusted,  weary,  and  perplexed,  and  de 
cided  that,  though  her  mother  might  suffer,  she 
could  not  endure  her  home.  They  followed  Jack 
to  the  West.  Thus  vanished  all  hopes  of  sym 
pathy  or  relief  from  this  source  to  Frado.  There 
seemed  no  one  capable  of  enduring  the  oppres 
sions  of  the  house  but  her.  She  turned  to  the 
darkness  of  the  future  with  the  determination 
previously  formed,  to  remain  until  she  should  be 
eighteen.  Jane  begged  her  to  follow  her  so 
10 


110  OUR     NIG. 

soon  as  she  should  be  released ;  but  so  wearied 
out  was  she  by  her  mistress,  she  felt  disposed  to 
flee  from  any  and  every  one  having  her  simili 
tude  of  name  or  feature. 


Ill 


CHAPTER    XI. 

MARRIAGE     AGAIN. 

Crucified  the  hopes  that  cheered  me, 
All  that  to  the  earth  endeared  me  ; 
Love  of  wealth  and  fame  and  power, 
Love,  —  all  have  been  crucified. 

C.  E. 

DARKNESS  before  day.  Jane  left,  but  Jack  was 
now  to  come  again.  After  Mary's  death  he  vis 
ited  home,  leaving  a  wife  behind.  An  orphan 
whose  home  was  with  a  relative,  gentle,  loving, 
the  true  mate  of  kind,  generous  Jack.  His 
mother  was  a  stranger  to  her,  of  course,  and 
had  perfect  right  to  interrogate  : 

"Is  she  good  looking,  Jack?"  asked  his 
mother. 

"  Looks  well  to  me,"  was  the  laconic  reply. 

"Washer  father  rich?" 

"  Not  worth  a  copper,  as  I  know  of;  I  never 
asked  him,"  answered  Jack. 

"  Hadn't  she  any  property  ?  What  did  you 
marry  her  for,"  asked  his  mother. 


112  OUR     NIG. 

"  Oh,  she 's  worth  a  million  dollars,  mother, 
though  not  a  cent  of  it  is  in  money." 

"Jack!  what  do  you  want  to  bring  such  a 
poor  being  into  the  family,  for  ?  You'd  better 
stay  here,  at  home,  and  let  your  wife  go.  Why 
could  n't  you  try  to  do  better,  and  not  disgrace 
your  parents  ?  " 

"Don't  judge,  till  you  see  her,"  was  Jack's 
reply,  and  immediately  changed  the  subject. 
It  was  no  recommendation  to  his  mother,  and 
she  did  not  feel  prepared  to  welcome  her  cor 
dially  now  he  was  to  come  with  his  wife.  He 
was  indignant  at  his  mother's  advice  to  desert 
her.  It  rankled  bitterly  in  his  soul,  the  bare 
suggestion.  He  had  more  to  bring.  He  now 
came  with  a  child  also.  He  decided  to  leave  the 
West,  but  not  his  family. 

Upon  their  arrival,  Mrs.  B.  extended  a  cold 
welcome  to  her  new  daughter,  eyeing  her  dress 
with  closest  scrutiny.  Poverty  was  to  her  a 
disgrace,  and  she  could  not  associate  with  any 
thus  dishonored.  This  coldness  was  felt  by  Jack's 
worthy  wife,  who  only  strove  the  harder  to 
recommend  herself  by  her  obliging,  winning 
ways. 


OUR     NIG.  113 

Mrs.  B.  could  never  let  Jack  be  with  her 
alone  without  complaining  of  this  or  that  de 
ficiency  in  his  wife. 

He  cared  not  so  long  as  the  complaints  were 
piercing  his  own  ears.  He  would  not  have 
Jenny  disquieted.  He  passed  his  time  in  seek 
ing  employment. 

A  letter  came  from  his  brother  Lewis,  then  at 
the  South,  soliciting  his  services.  Leaving  his 
wife,  he  repaired  thither. 

Mrs.  B.  felt  that  great  restraint  was  removed, 
that  Jenny  was  more  in  her  own  power.  She 
wished  to  make  her  feel  her  inferiority ;  to 
relieve  Jack  of  his  burden  if  he  would  not  do 
it  himself.  She  watched  her  incessantly,  to 
catch  at  some  act  of  Jenny's  which  might  be 
construed  into  conjugal  unfaithfulness. 

Near  by  were  a  family  of  cousins,  one  a 
young  man  of  Jack's  age,  who,  from  love  to  his 
cousin,  proffered  all  needful  courtesy  to  his 
stranger  relative.  Soon  news  reached  Jack  that 
Jenny  was  deserting  her  covenant  vows,  and 
had  formed  an  illegal  intimacy  with  his  cousin. 
Meantime  Jenny  was  told  by  her  mother-in- 
law  that  Jack  did  not  marry  her  untrammelled. 
10* 


114  OUR     NIG. 

He  had  another  love  whom  he  would  be  glad, 
even  now,  if  he  could,  to  marry.  It  was  very 
doubtful  if  he  ever  came  for  her. 

Jenny  would  feel  pained  by  her  unwelcome 
gossip,  and,  glancing  at  her  child,  she  decided, 
however  true  it  might  be,  she  had  a  pledge 
which  would  enchain  him  yet.  Ere  long,  the 
mother's  inveterate  hate  crept  out  into  some 
neighbor's  enclosure,  and,  caught  up  hastily, 
they  passed  the  secret  round  till  it  became  none, 
and  Lewis  was  sent  for,  the  brother  by  whom 
Jack  was  employed.  The  neighbors  saw  her 
fade  in  health  and  spirits ;  they  found  letters 
never  reached  their  destination  when  sent  by 
either.  Lewis  arrived  with  the  joyful  news 
that  he  had  come  to  take  Jenny  home  with 
him. 

What  a  relief  to  her  to  be  freed  from  the 
gnawing  taunts  of  her  adversary. 

Jenny  retired  to  prepare  for  the  journey,  and 
Mrs.  B.  and  Henry  had  a  long  interview.  Next 
morning  he  informed  Jenny  that  new  clothes 
would  be  necessary,  in  order  to  make  her  pre 
sentable  to  Baltimore  society,  and  he  should 
return  without  her,  and  she  must  stay  till  she 
was  suitably  attired. 


OUR     NIG.  115 

Disheartened,  she  rushed  to  her  room,  and, 
after  relief  from  weeping,  wrote  to  Jack  to 
come  ;  to  have  pity  on  her,  and  take  her  to  him. 
No  answer  came.  Mrs.  Smith,  a  neighbor,  watch 
ful  and  friendly,  suggested  that  she  write  away 
from  home,  and  employ  some  one  to  carry  it  to 
the  office  who  would  elude  Mrs.  B.,  who,  they 
very  well  knew,  had  intercepted  Jenny's  letter, 
and  influenced  Lewis  to  leave  her  behind.  She 
accepted  the  offer,  and  Frado  succeeded  in  man 
aging  the  affair  so  that  Jack  soon  came  to  the 
rescue,  angry,  wounded,  and  forever  after  alien 
ated  from  his  early  home  and  his  mother.  Many 
times  would  Frado  steal  up  into  Jenny's  room, 
when  she  knew  she  was  tortured  by  her  mis 
tress'  malignity,  and  tell  some  of  her  own 
encounters  with  her,  and  tell  her  she  might  "  be 
sure  it  would  n't  kill  her,  for  she  should  have 
died  long  before  at  the  same  treatment." 

Susan  and  her  child  succeeded  Jenny  as  vis 
itors.  Frado  had  merged  into  womanhood,  and, 
retaining  what  she  had  learned,  in  spite  of  the 
few  privileges  enjoyed  formerly,  was  striving  to 
enrich  her  mind.  Her  school-books  were  her 
constant  companions,  and  every  leisure  moment 


116  OUR      NIG. 

was  applied  to  them.  Susan  was  delighted  to 
witness  her  progress,  and  some  little  book  from 
her  was  a  reward  sufficient  for  any  task  im 
posed,  however  difficult.  She  had  her  book 
always  fastened  open  near  her,  where  she  could 
glance  from  toil  to  soul  refreshment.  The 
approaching  spring  would  close  the  term  of 
years  which  Mrs.  B.  claimed  as  the  period  of 
her  servitude.  Often  as  she  passed  the  way- 
marks  of  former  years  did  she  pause  to  ponder 
on  her  situation,  and  wonder  if  she  could  succeed 
in  providing  for  her  own  wants.  Her  health 
was  delicate,  yet  she  resolved  to  try. 

Soon  she  counted  the  time  by  days  which 
should  release  her.  Mrs.  B.  felt  that  she  could 
not  well  spare  one  who  could  so  well  adapt  her 
self  to  all  departments — man,  boy,  housekeeper, 
domestic,  etc.  She  begged  Mrs.  Smith  to  talk 
with  her,  to  show  her  how  ungrateful  it  would 
appear  to  leave  a  home  of  such  comfort  —  how 
wicked  it  was  to  be  ungrateful !  But  Frado 
replied  that  she  had  had  enough  of  such  com 
forts  ;  she  wanted  some  new  ones ;  and  as  it  was 
so  wicked  to  be  ungrateful,  she  would  go  from 
temptation  ;  Aunt  Abby  said  "  we  must  n't  put 
ourselves  in  the  way  of  temptation." 


OUR     NIG.  117 

Poor  little  Fido !  She  shed  more  tears  over 
him  than  over  all  beside. 

The  morning  for  departure  dawned.  Frado 
engaged  to  work  for  a  family  a  mile  distant. 
Mrs.  Bellmont  dismissed  her  with  the  assurance 
that  she  would  soon  wish  herself  back  again, 
and  a  present  of  a  silver  half  dollar. 

Her  wardrobe  consisted  of  one  decent  dress, 
without  any  superfluous  accompaniments.  A 
Bible  from  Susan  she  felt  was  her  greatest 
treasure. 

Now  was  she  alone  in  the  world.  The  past 
year  had  been  one  of  suffering  resulting  from  a 
fall,  which  had  left  her  lame. 

The  first  summer  passed  pleasantly,  and  the 
wages  earned  were  expended  in  garments  neces 
sary  for  health  and  cleanliness.  Though  feeble, 
she  was  well  satisfied  with  her  progress.  Shut 
up  in  her  room,  after  her  toil  was  finished,  she 
studied  what  poor  samples  of  apparel  she  had, 
and,  for  the  first  time,  prepared  her  own  gar 
ments. 

Mrs.  Moore,  who  employed  her,  was  a  kind 
friend  to  her,  and  attempted  to  heal  her 
wounded  spirit  by  sympathy  and  advice,  bury- 


118  OUR     NIG. 

ing  the  past  in  the  prospects  of  the  future. 
But  her  failing  health  was  a  cloud  no  kindly 
human  hand  could  dissipate.  A  little  light 
work  was  all  she  could  accomplish.  A  clergy 
man,  whose  family  was  small,  sought  her,  and 
she  was  removed  there.  Her  engagement  with 
Mrs.  Moore  finished  in  the  fall.  Frado  was 
anxious  to  keep  up  her  reputation  for  efficiency, 
and  often  pressed  far  beyond  prudence.  In  the 
winter  she  entirely  gave  up  work,  and  confessed 
herself  thoroughly  sick.  Mrs.  Hale,  soon  over 
come  by  additional  cares,  was  taken  sick  also, 
and  now  it  became  necessary  to  adopt  some 
measures  for  Frado's  comfort,  as  well  as  to 
relieve  Mrs.  Hale.  Such  dark  forebodings  as 
visited  her  as  she  lay,  solitary  and  sad,  no  moans 
or  sighs  could  relieve. 

The  family  physician  pronounced  her  case 
one  of  doubtful  issue.  Frado  hoped  it  was  final. 
She  could  not  feel  relentings  that  her  former 
home  was  abandoned,  and  yet,  should  she  be  in 
need  of  succor  could  she  obtain  it  from  one  who 
would  now  so  grudgingly  bestow  it  ?  The 
family  were  applied  to,  and  it  was  decided  to 
take  her  there.  She  was  removed  to  a  room 


OUR      NIG.  119 

built  out  from  the  main  building,  used  formerly 
as  a  workshop,  where  cold  and  rain  found  unob 
structed  access,  and  here  she  fought  with  bitter 
reminiscences  and  future  prospects  till  she  be 
came  reckless  of  her  faith  and  hopes  and  person, 
and  half  wished  to  end  what  nature  seemed  so 
tardily  to  take. 

Aunt  Abby  made  her  frequent  visits,  and  at 
last  had  her  removed  to  her  own  apartment, 
where  she  might  supply  her  wants,  and  minister 
to  her  once  more  in  heavenly  things. 

Then  came  the  family  consultation. 

"  What  is  to  be  done  with  her,"  asked  Mrs.  B., 
"  after  she  is  moved  there  with  Nab  ?  " 

"  Send  for  the  Dr.,  your  brother,"  Mr.  B.  re 
plied. 

"When?" 

"  To-night." 

"  To-night !  and  for  her !  Wait  till  morning," 
she  continued. 

"  She  has  waited  too  long  now ;  I  think  some 
thing  should  be  done  soon." 

"  I  doubt  if  she  is  much  sick,"  sharply  inter 
rupted  Mrs.  B. 

"  Well,  we'  11  see  what  our  brother  thinks." 


120  OUR      NIG, 

His  coming  was  longed  for  by  Frado,  who  had 
known  him  well  during  her  long  sojourn  in  the 
family;  and  his  praise  of  her  nice  butter  and 
cheese,  from  which  his  table  was  supplied,  she 
knew  he  felt  as  well  as  spoke. 

"  You  're  sick,  very  sick,"  he  said,  quickly, 
after  a  moment's  pause.  "Take  good  care  of 
her,  Abby,  or  she  '11  never  get  well.  All  broken 
down." 

"  Yes,  it  was  at  Mrs.  Moore's,"  said  Mrs.  B., 
"  all  this  was  done.  She  did  but  little  the  latter 
part  of  the  tiine  she  was  here." 

"  It  was  commenced  longer  ago  than  last  sum 
mer.  Take  good  care  of  her;  she  may  never 
get  well,"  remarked  the  Dr. 

"  We  sha'  n't  pay  you  for  doctoring  her ;  you 
may  look  to  the  town  for  that,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  B., 
and  abruptly  left  the  room. 

"  Oh  dear  !  oh  dear ! "  exclaimed  Frado,  and 
buried  her  face  in  the  pillow. 

A  few  kind  words  of  consolation,  and  she  was 
once  more  alone  in  the  darkness  which  envel 
oped  her  previous  days.  Yet  she  felt  sure  they 
owed  her  a  shelter  and  attention,  when  disabled, 
and  she  resolved  to  feel  patient,  and  remain  till 


OUR      NIG.  121 

she  could  help  herself.  Mrs.  B.  would  not  at 
tend  her,  nor  permit  her  domestic  to  stay  with 
her  at  all.  Aunt  Abby  was  her  sole  comforter. 
Aunt  Abby's  nursing  had  the  desired  effect,  and 
she  slowly  improved.  As  soon  as  she  was  able 
to  be  moved,  the  kind  Mrs.  Moore  took  her  to 
her  home  again,  and  completed  what  Aunt  Abby 
had  so  well  commenced.  Not  that  she  was  well, 
or  ever  would  be ;  but  she  had  recovered  so  far 
as  rendered  it  hopeful  she  might  provide  for  her 
own  wants.  The  clergyman  at  whose  house  she 
was  taken  sick,  was  now  seeking  some  one  to 
watch  his  sick  children,  and  as  soon  as  he  heard 
of  her  recovery,  again  asked  for  her  services. 

What  seemed  so  light  and  easy  to  others,  was 
too  much  far  Frado ;  and  it  became  necessary 
to  ask  once  more  where  the  sick  should  find  an 
asylum. 

All  felt  that  the  place  where  her  declining 
health  began,  should  be  the  place  of  relief;  so 
they  applied  once  more  for  a  shelter. 

"  No,"  exclaimed  the  indignant  Mrs.  B.;  u  she 
she    shall  never    come  under  this  roof  again; 
never !  never !  "  she  repeated,  as  if  each  repeti 
tion  were  a  bolt  to  prevent  admission. 
11 


122  OUR      NIG. 

One  only  resource ;  the  public  must  pay  the 
expense.  So  she  was  removed  to  the  home  of 
two  maidens,  (old,)  who  had  principle  enough  to 
be  willing  to  earn  the  money  a  charitable  public 
disb.urses. 

Three  years  of  weary  sickness  wasted  her, 
without  extinguishing  a  life  apparently  so  fee 
ble.  Two  years  had  these  maidens  watched  and 
cared  for  her,  and  they  began  to  weary,  and 
finally  to  request  the  authorities  to  remove  her. 

Mrs.  Hoggs  was  a  lover  of  gold  and  silver,  and 
she  asked  the  favor  of  filling  her  coffers  by  caring 
for  the  sick.  The  removal  caused  severe  sick 
ness. 

By  being  bolstered  in  the  bed,  after  a  time 
she  could  use  her  hands,  and  often  would  ask  for 
sewing  to  beguile  the  tedium.  She  had  become 
very  expert  with  her  needle  the  first  year  of  her 
release  from  Mrs.  B.,  and  she  had  forgotten  none 
of  her  skill.  Mrs.  H.  praised  her,  and  as  she  im 
proved  in  health,  was  anxious  to  employ  her. 
She  told  her  she  could  in  this  way  replace  her 
clothes,  and  as  her  board  would  be  paid  for,  she 
would  thus  gain  something. 

Many  times   her  hands   wrought  when   her 


OUR      NIG.  123 

body  was  in  pain  ;  but  the  hope  that  she  might 
yet  help  herself,  impelled  her  on. 

Thus  she  reckoned  her  store  of  means  by  a 
few  dollars,  and  was  hoping  soon  to  come  in  pos 
session,  when  she  was  startled  by  the  announce 
ment  that  Mrs.  Hoggs  had  reported  her  to  the 
physician  and  town  officers  as  an  impostor.  That 
she  was,  in  truth,  able  to  get  up  and  go  to  work. 

This  brought  on  a  severe  sickness  of  two 
weeks,  when  Mrs.  Moore  again  sought  her,  and 
took  her  to  her  home.  She  had  formerly  had 
wealth  at  her  command,  but  misfortune  had  de 
prived  her  of  it,  and  unlocked  her  heart  to  sym 
pathies  and  favors  she  had  never  known  while  it 
lasted.  Her  husband,  defrauded  of  his  last 
means  by  a  branch  of  the  Bellmont  family,  had 
supported  them  by  manual  labor,  gone  to  the 
West,  and  left  his  wife  and  four  young  children. 
But  she  felt  humanity  required  her  to  give  a 
shelter  to  one  she  knew  to  be  worthy  of  a  hospit 
able  reception.  Mrs.  Moore's  physician  was 
called,  and  pronounced  her  a  very  sick  girl,  and 
encouraged  Mrs.  M.  to  keep  her  and  care  for  her, 
and  he  would  see  that  the  authorities  were  in- 


124  OUR     NIG. 

formed  of  Frado's  helplessness,  and  pledged  as 
sistance. 

Here  she  remained  till  sufficiently  restored  to 
sew  again.  Then  came  the  old  resolution  to  take 
care  of  herself,  to  cast  off  the  unpleasant  chari 
ties  of  the  public. 

She  learned  that  in  some  towns  in  Massachu 
setts,  girls  make  straw  bonnets  —  that  it  was 
easy  and  profitable.  But  how  should  she,  black, 
feeble  and  poor,  find  any  one  to  teach  her.  But 
God  prepares  the  way,  when  human  agencies 
see  no  path.  Here  was  found  a  plain,  poor,  sim 
ple  woman,  who  could  see  merit  beneath  a  dark 
skin  ;  and  when  the  invalid  mulatto  told  her  sor 
rows,  she  opened  her  door  and  her  heart,  and 
took  the  stranger  in.  Expert  with  the  needle, 
Frado  soon  equalled  her  instructress;  and  she 
sought  also  to  teach  her  the  value  of  useful 
books  ;  and  while  one  read  aloud  to  the  other  of 
deeds  historic  and  names  renowned,  Frado  expe 
rienced  a  new  impulse.  She  felt  herself  capable 
of  elevation  ;  she  felt  that  this  book  information 
supplied  an  undefined  dissatisfaction  she  had 
long  felt,  but  could  not  express.  Every  leisure 
moment  was  carefully  applied  to  self-improve- 


OUR      NIG.  125 

ment,  and  a  devout  and  Christian  exterior  in 
vited  confidence  from  the  villagers.     Thus  she 
passed  months  of  quiet,  growing  in  the  confi 
dence  of  her  neighbors  and  new  found  friends. 
11* 


126 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THE     WINDING     UP     OF -THE     MATTER. 

Nothing  new  under  the  sun. 

SOLOMON. 

A  FEW  years  ago,  within  the  compass  of  my 
narrative,  there  appeared  often  in  some  of  our 
New  England  villages,  professed  fugitives  from 
slavery,  who  recounted  their  personal  experi 
ence  in  homely  phrase,  and  awakened  the  indig 
nation  of  non-slaveholders  against  brother  Pro. 
Such  a  one  appeared  in  the  new  home  of  Frado ; 
and  as  people  of  color  were  rare  there,  was  it 
strange  she  should  attract  her  dark  brother ;  that 
he  should  inquire  her  out ;  succeed  in  seeing 
her  ;  feel  a  strange  sensation  in  his  heart  towards 
her ;  that  he  should  toy  with  her  shining  curls, 
feel  proud  to  provoke  her  to  smile  and  expose 
the  ivory  concealed  by  thin,  ruby  lips ;  that  her 
sparkling  eyes  should  fascinate ;  that  he  should 
propose ;  that  they  should  marry  ?  A  short  ac 
quaintance  was  indeed  an  objection,  but  she  saw 


OUR     NIG.  127 

him  often,  and  thought  she  knew  him.  He 
never  spoke  of  his  enslavement  to  her  when 
alone,  but  she  felt  that,  like  her  own  oppression, 
it  was  painful  to  disturb  oftener  than  was 
needful. 

He  was  a  fine,  straight  negro,  whose  back 
showed  no  marks  of  the  lash,  erect  as  if  it  never 
crouched  beneath  a  burden.  There  was  a  silent 
sympathy  which  Frado  felt  attracted  her,  and 
she  opened  her  heart  to  the  presence  of  love  — 
that  arbitrary  and  inexorable  tyrant. 

She  removed  to  Singleton,  her  former  resi 
dence,  and  there  was  married.  Here  were  Fra- 
do's  first  feelings  of  trust  and  repose  on  human 
arm.  She  realized,  for  the  first  time,  the  relief 
of  looking  to  another  for  comfortable  support. 
Occasionally  he  would  leave  her  to  "  lecture." 

Those  tours  were  prolonged  often  to  weeks. 
Of  course  he  had  little  spare  money.  Frado  was 
again  feeling  her  self-dependence,  and  was  at 
last  compelled  to  resort  alone  to  that.  Samuel 
was  kind  to  her  when  at  home,  but  made  no  pro 
vision  for  his  absence,  which  was  at  last  unprece 
dented. 

He  left  her  to  her  fate  —  embarked  at  sea, 


128  OUR      NIG. 

with  the  disclosure  that  he  had  never  seen  the 
South,  and  that  his  illiterate  harangues  were 
humbugs  for  hungry  abolitionists.  Once  more 
alone  !  Yet  not  alone.  A  still  newer  compan 
ionship  would  soon  force  itself  upon  her.  No 
one  wanted  her  with  such  prospects.  Herself 
was  burden  enough ;  who  would  have  an  addi 
tional  one  ? 

The  horrors  of  her  condition  nearly  prostrated 
her,  and  she  was  again  thrown  upon  the  public 
for  sustenance.  Then  followed  the  birth  of  her 
child.  The  long  absent  Samuel  unexpectedly 
returned,  and  rescued  her  from  charity.  Recov 
ering  from  her  expected  illness,  she  once  more 
commenced  toil  for  herself  and  child,  in  a  room 
obtained  of  a  poor  woman,  but  with  better  for 
tune.  One  so  well  known  would  not  be  wholly 
neglected.  Kind  friends  watched  her  when  Sam 
uel  was  from  home,  prevented  her  from  suffering, 
and  when  the  cold  weather  pinched  the  warmly 
clad,  a  kind  friend  took  them  in,  and  thus  pre 
served  them.  At  last  Samuel's  business  became 
very  engrossing,  and  after  long  desertion,  news 
reached  his  family  that  he  had  become  a  victim 
of  yellow  fever,  in  New  Orleans. 


OUR      NIG.  129 

So  much  toil  as  was  necessary  to  sustain  Fra- 
do,  was  more  than  she  could  endure.  As  soon 
as  her  babe  could  be  nourished  without  his 
mother,  she  left  him  in  charge  of  a  Mrs.  Capon, 
and  procured  an  agency,  hoping  to  recruit  her 
health,  and  gain  an  easier  livelihood  for  herself 
and  child.  This  afforded  her  better  mainten 
ance  than  she  had  yet  found.  She  passed  into 
the  various  towns  of  the  State  she  lived  in,  then 
into  Massachusetts.  Strange  were  some  of  her 
adventures.  Watched  by  kidnappers,  maltreated 
by  professed  abolitionists,  who  didn't  want 
slaves  at  the  South,  nor  niggers  in  their  own 
houses,  North.  Faugh !  to  lodge  one ;  to  eat 
with  one  •  to  admit  one  through  the  front  door ; 
to  sit  next  one ;  awful ! 

Traps  slyly  laid  by  the  vicious  to  ensnare  her, 
she  resolutely  avoided.  In  one  of  her  tours, 
Providence  favored  her  with  a  friend  who,  pity 
ing  her  cheerless  lot,  kindly  provided  her  with  a 
valuable  recipe,  from  which  she  might  herself 
manufacture  a  useful  article  for  her  maintenance. 
This  proved  a  more  agreeable,  and  an  easier  way 
of  sustenance. 

And  thus,  to  the  present  time,  may  you  see 


130  OUR     NIG. 

her  busily  employed  in  preparing  her  merchan 
dise  ;  then  sallying  forth  to  encounter  many 
frowns,  bat  some  kind  friends  and  purchasers. 
Nothing  turns  her  from  her  steadfast  purpose  of 
elevating  herself.  Eeposing  on  God,  she  has 
thus  far  journeyed  securely.  Still  an  invalid,  she 
asks  your  symyathy,  gentle  reader.  Eefuse  not, 
because  some  part  of  her  history  is  unknown, 
save  by  the  Omniscient  God.  Enough  has  been 
unrolled  to  demand  your  sympathy  and  aid. 

Do  you  ask  the  destiny  of  those  connected 
with  her  early  history  ?  A  few  years  only  have 
elapsed  since  Mr.  and  Mrs.  B.  passed  into  another 
world.  As  age  increased,  Mrs.  B.  became  more 
irritable,  so  that  no  one,  even  her  own  children, 
could  remain  with  her ;  and  she  was  accompa 
nied  by  her  husband  to  the  home  of  Lewis, 
where,  after  an  agony  in  death  unspeakable,  she 
passed  away.  Only  a  few  months  since,  Aunt 
Abby  entered  heaven.  Jack  and  his  wife  rest 
in  heaven,  disturbed  by  no  intruders;  and  Susan 
and  her  child  are  yet  with  the  living.  Jane  has 
silver  locks  in  place  of  auburn  tresses,  but  she 
has  the  early  love  of  Henry  still,  and  has  never 


OUR     NIG.  131 

regretted  her  exchange  of  lovers.  Frado  has 
passed  from  their  memories,  as  Joseph  from  the 
butler's,  but  she  will  never  cease  to  track  them 
till  beyond  mortal  vision. 


133 


APPENDIX. 


"  TRUTH  is  stranger  than  fiction ; "  and  whoever  reads  the 
narrative  of  Alfrado,  will  find  the  assertion  verified. 

About  eight  years  ago  I  became  acquainted  with  the  author 
of  this  book,  and  I  feel  it  a  privilege  to  speak  a  few  words 
in  her  behalf.  Through  the  instrumentality  of  an  itinerant 

colored  lecturer,  she  was  brought  to  W ,  Mass.  This  is 

an  ancient  town,  where  the  mothers  and  daughters  seek,  not 
"wool  and  flax,"  but  straw,  —  working  willingly  with  their 
hands !  Here  she  was  introduced  to  the  family  of  Mrs. 
Walker,  who  kindly  consented  to  receive  her  as  an  inmate 
of  her  household,  and  immediately  succeeded  in  procuring 
work  for  her  as  a  "straw  sewer."  Being  very  ingenious, 
she  soon  acquired  the  art  of  making  hats ;  but  on  account 
of  former  hard  treatment,  her  constitution  was  greatly  im 
paired,  and  she  was  subject  to  seasons  of  sickness.  On  this 
account  Mrs.  W.  gave  her  a  room  joining  her  own  chamber, 
where  she  could  hear  her  faintest  call.  Never  shall  I  forget 
the  expression  of  her  " black,  but  comely"  face,  as  she 

came  to  me  one  day,  exclaiming,  "  0,  aunt  J ,  I  have  at 

last  found  a  home,  —  and  not  only  a  home,  but  a  mother. 
My  cup  runneth  over.  What  shall  I  render  to  the  Lord 
for  all  his  benefits?" 

Months    passed   on,    and    she   was    happy  —  truly   happy. 

Her  health  began   to  improve  under  the  genial  sunshine   in 

which  she  lived,  and  she  even  looked  forward  with  hope  — 

joyful  hope  to  the  future.     But,  alas,  "  it  is  not  in  man  that 

12 


134  APPENDIX. 

walketh  to  direct  his  steps."  One  beautiful  morning  in  the 
early  spring  of  1842,  as  she  was  taking  her  usual  walk,  she 
chanced  to  meet  her  old  friend,  the  "  lecturer,"  who  brought 

her  to  W ,  and  with  him  was  a  fugitive  slave.     Young, 

well-formed  and  very  handsome,  he  said  he  had  been  a  house- 
servant,  which  seemed  to  account  in  some  measure  for  his 
gentlemanly  manners  and  pleasing  address.  The  meeting 
was  entirely  accidental ;  but  it  was  a  sad  occurrence  for  poor 
Alfrado,  as  her  own  sequel  tells.  Suffice  it  to  say,  an 
acquaintance  and  attachment  was  formed,  which,  in  due  time, 

resulted   in  marriage.     In  a  few  days  she  left  W ,  and 

all  her  home  comforts,  and  took  up  her  abode  in  New  Hamp 
shire.  For  a  while  everything  went  on  well,  and  she  dreamed 
not  of  danger ;  but  in  an  evil  hour  he  left  his  young  and 
trusting  wife,  and  embarked  for  sea.  She  knew  nothing  of 
all  this,  and  waited  for  his  return.  But  she  waited  in  vain. 
Days  passed,  weeks  passed,  and  he  came  not ;  then  her  heart 
failed  her.  She  felt  herself  deserted  at  a  time,  when,  of  all 
others,  she  most  needed  the  care  and  soothing  attentions  of 
a  devoted  husband.  For  a  time  she  tried  to  sustain  herself, 
but  this  was  impossible.  She  had  friends,  but  they  were 
mostly  of  that  class  who  are  poor  in  the  things  of  earth,  but 
"rich  in  faith."  The  charity  on  which  she  depended  failed 
at  last,  and  there  was  nothing  to  save  her  from  the  "  County 
House  ;  "  go  she  must.  But  her  feelings  on  her  way  thither, 
and  after  her  arrival,  can  be  given  better  in  her  own  language  ; 
and  I  trust  it  will  be  no  breach  of  confidence  if  I  here  insert 
part  of  a  letter  she  wrote  her  mother  Walker,  concerning  the 
matter. 

%  %  %  «  The  evening  before  I  left  for  my  dreaded  jour 
ney  to  the  *  house '  which  was  to  be  my  abode,  I  packed  my 
trunk,  carefully  placing  in  it  every  little  memento  of  affection 

received  from  you  and  my  friends  in  W* ,  among  which 

was  the  portable   inkstand,   pens   and   paper.      My  beautiful 


APPENDIX.  135 

little  Bible  was  laid  aside,  as  a  place  nearer  my  heart  was 
reserved  for  that.  I  need  not  tell  you  I  slept  not  a  moment 
that  night.  My  home,  my  peaceful,  quiet  home  with  you,  was 
before  me.  I  could  see  my  dear  little  room,  with  its  pleasant 
eastern  window  opening  to  the  morning ;  but  more  than  all,  I 
beheld  you,  my  mother,  gliding  softly  in  and  kneeling  by  my 
bed  to  read,  as  no  one  but  you  can  read,  '  The  Lord  is  my 
shepherd,  —  I  shall  not  want '  But  I  cannot  go  on,  for  tears 
blind  me.  For  a  description  of  the  morning,  and  of  the  scant 
breakfast,  I  must  wait  until  another  time. 

"  We  started.  The  man  who  came  for  me  was  kind  as  he 
could  be,  — helped  me  carefully  into  the  wagon,  (for,  I  had  no 
strength,)  and  drove  on.  For  miles  I  spoke  not  a  word. 
Then  the  silence  would  be  broken  by  the  driver  uttering  some 
sort  of  word  the  horse  seemed  to  understand  ;  for  he  invariably 
quickened  his  pace.  And  so,  just  before  nightfall,  we  halted 
at  the  institution,  prepared  for  the  homeless.  With  cold 
civility  the  matron  received  me,  and  bade  one  of  the  inmates 
shew  me  my  room.  She  did  so ;  and  I  followed  up  two  flights 
of  stairs.  I  crept  as  I  was  able ;  and  when  she  said,  ( Go  in 
there,'  I  obeyed,  asking  for  my  trunk,  which  was  soon  placed 
by  me.  My  room  was  furnished  some  like  the  *  prophet's 
chamber,'  except  there  was  no  '  candlestick ; '  so  when  I  could 
creep  down  I  begged  for  a  light,  and  it  was  granted.  Then  I 
flung  myself  on  the  bed  and  cried,  until  I  could  cry  no  longer. 
I  rose  up  and  tried  to  pray ;  the  Saviour  seemed  near.  I 
opened  my  precious  little  Bible,  and  the  first  verse  that  caught 
my  eye  was  — '  I  am  poor  and  needy,  yet  the  Lord  thinketh 
upon  me.'  0,  my  mother,  could  I  tell  you  the  comfort  this 
was  to  me.  I  sat  down,  calm,  almost  happy,  took  my  pen  and 
wrote  on  the  inspiration  of  the  moment  — 

"  O,  holy  Father,  by  thy  power,   . 

Thus  far  in  life  I'm  brought; 
And  now  in  this  dark,  trying  hour, 

O  God,  forsake  me  not. 


136  APPENDIX. 

"  Dids't  thou  not  nourish  and  sustain 

My  infancy  and  youth  ? 
Have  I  not  testimonials  plain, 

Of  thy  unchanging  truth  ? 

"  Though  I  've  no  home  to  call  my  own, 

My  heart  shall  not  repine  ; 
The  saint  may  live  on  earth  unknown, 

And  yet  in  glory  shine. 

"  When  my  Kedeemer  dwelt  below, 

He  chose  a  lowly  lot ; 
He  came  unto  his  own,  but  lo  ! 

His  own  received  him  not. 

"  Oft  was  the  mountain  his  abode, 

The  cold,  cold  earth  his  bed ; 
The  midnight  moon  shone  softly  down 

On  his  unsheltered  head. 

"  But  my  head  was  sheltered,  and  I  tried  to  feel  thankful." 

^  *  %  *  *  *  * 

Two  or  three  letters  were  received  after  this  by  her  friends  in 

W ,  and  then  all  was  silent.     No  one  of  us  knew  whether 

she  still  lived  or  had  gone  to  her  home  on  high.  But  it  seems 
she  remained  in  this  house  until  after  the  birth  of  her  babe ; 
then  her  faithless  husband  returned,  and  took  her  to  some  town 
in  New  Hampshire,  where,  for  a  time,  he  supported  her  and  his 
little  son  decently  well.  But  again  he  left  her  as  before  —  sud 
denly  and  unexpectedly,  and  she  saw  him  no  more.  Her  efforts 
were  again  successful  in  a  measure  in  securing  a  meagre  main 
tenance  for  a  time ;  but  her  struggles  with  poverty  and  sickness 
were  severe.  At  length,  a  door  of  hope  was  opened.  A  kind 
gentleman  and  lady  took  her  little  boy  into  their  own  family, 
and  provided  everything  necessary  for  his  good ;  and  all  this  with 
out  the  hope  of  remuneration.  But  let  them  know,  they  shall 


APPENDIX.  137 

be  "  recompensed  at  the  resurrection  of  the  just."  God  is  not 
unmindful  of  this  work,  —  this  labor  of  love.  As  for  the 
afflicted  mother,  she  too  has  been  remembered.  The  heart  of  a 
stranger  was  moved  with  compassion,  and  bestowed  a  recipe 
upon  her  for  restoring  gray  hair  to  its  former  color.  She  availed 
herself  of  this  great  help,  and  has  been  quite  successful ;  but 
her  health  is  again  falling,  and  she  has  felt  herself  obliged  to 
resort  to  another  method  of  procuring  her  bread  —  that  of  writ 
ing  an  Autobiography. 

I  trust  she  will  find  a  ready  sale  for  her  interesting  work ; 
and  let  all  the  friends  who  purchase  a  volume,  remember  they 
are  doing  good  to  one  of  the  most  worthy,  and  I  had  almost 
said  most  unfortunate,  of  the  human  family.  I  will  only  add 
in  conclusion,  a  few  lines,  calculated  to  comfort  and  strengthen 
this  sorrowful,  homeless  one.  "  I  will  help  thee,  saith  the 
Lord." 

"  I  will  help  thee,"  promise  kind, 

Made  by  our  High  Priest  above  ; 
Soothing  to  the  troubled  mind, 

Full  of  tenderness  and  love. 

"  I  will  help  thee  "  when  the  storm 

Gathers  dark  on  every  side  ; 
Safely  from  impending  harm, 

In  my  sheltering  bosom  hide. 

"  I  will  help  thee,"  weary  saint, 

Cast  thy  burdens  all  on  me  ; 
Oh,  how  cans't  thou  tire  or  faint, 

While  my  arm  encircles  thee. 

I  have  pitied  every  tear, 

Heard  and  counted  every  sigh ; 
Ever  lend  a  gracious  ear 

To  thy  supplicating  cry. 


138  APPENDIX. 

What  though  thy  wounded  bosom  bleed, 

Pierced  by  affliction's  dart ; 
Do  I  not  all  thy  sorrows  heed, 

And  bear  thee  on  my  heart  ? 

Soon  will  the  lowly  grave  become 

Thy  quiet  resting  place  ; 

*Thy  spirit  find  a  peaceful  home 

In  mansions  near  my  face. 

There  are  thy  robes  and  glittering  crown, 

Outshining  yonder  sun ; 
Soon  shalt  thou  lay  the  body  down, 

And  put  those  glories  on. 

Long  has  thy  golden  lyre  been  strung, 

Which  angels  cannot  move ; 
No  song  to  this  is  ever  sung, 

But  bleeding,  dying  Love. 

ALLIDA. 


To    THE    FRIENDS    OF     OUR    DARK-COMPLEXIONED     BRETHREN    AND 
SISTERS,    THIS    NOTE    IS    INTENDED. 

Having  known  the  writer  of  this  book  for  a  number  of  years, 
and  knowing  the  many  privations  and  mortifications  she  has  had 
to  pass  through,  I  the  more  willingly  add  my  testimony  to  the 
truth  of  her  assertions.  She  is  one  of  that  class,  who  by  some 
are  considered  not  only  as  little  lower  than  the  angels,  but  far 
beneath  them ;  but  I  have  long  since  learned  that  we  are  not 
to  look  at  the  color  of  the  hair,  the  eyes,  or  the  skin,  for  the 
man  or  woman ;  their  life  is  the  criterion  we  are  to  judge  by. 
The  writer  of  this  book  has  seemed  to  be  a  child  of  misfortune. 

Early  in  life  she  was  deprived  of  her  parents,  and  all  those 
endearing  associations  to  which  childhood  clings.  Indeed,  she 


APPENDIX.  139 

may  be  said  not  to  have  had  that  happy  period ;  for,  being  tak 
en  from  home  so  young,  and  placed  where  she  had  nothing  to 
love  or  cling  to,  I  often  wonder  she  had  not  grown  up  a  monster  ; 
and  those  very  people  calling  themselves  Christians,  (the  good 
Lord  deliver  me  from  such,)  and  they  likewise  ruined  her 
"health  by  hard  work,  both  in  the  field  and  house.  She  was  in 
deed  a  slave,  in  every  sense  of  the  word ;  and  a  lonely  one,  too. 

But  she  has  found  some  friends  in  this  degraded  world,  that 
were  willing  to  do  by  others  as  they  would  have  others  do  by 
them ;  that  were  willing  she  should  live,  and  have  an  existence 
on  the  earth  with  them.  She  has  never  enjoyed  any  degree  of 
comfortable  health  since  she  was  eighteen  years  of  age,  and  a 
great  deal  of  the  time  has  been  confined  to  her  room  and  bed. 
She  is  now  trying  to  write  a  book  ;  and  I  hope  the  public  will 
look  favorably  on  it,  and  patronize  the  same,  for  she  is  a  worthy 
woman. 

Her  own  health  being  poor,  and  having  a  child  to  care  for, 
(for,  by  the  way,  she  has  been  married,)  and  she  wishes  to  edu 
cate  him  ;  in  her  sickness  he  has  been  taken  from  her,  and  sent 
to  the  county  farm,  because  she  could  not  pay  his  board  every 
week;  but  as  soon  as  she  was  able,  she  took  him  from  that 
place,  and  now  he  has  a  home  where  he  is  contented  and  happy, 
and  where  he  is  considered  as  good  as  those  he  is  with.  He  is 
an  intelligent,  smart  boy,  and  no  doubt  will  make  a  smart  man, 
if  he  is  rightly  managed.  He  is  beloved  by  his  playmates,  and 
by  all  the  friends  of  the  family  ;  for  the  family  do  not  recognize 
those  as  friends  who  do  not  include  him  in  their  family,  or  as 
one  of  them,  and  his  mother  as  a  daughter  —  for  they  treat  her 
as  such ;  and  she  certainly  deserves  all  the  affection  and  kind 
ness  that  is  bestowed  upon  her,  and  they  are  always  happy  to 
have  her  visit  them  whenever  she  will.  They  are  not  wealthy, 
but  the  latch-string  is  always  out  when  suffering  humanity  needs 
a  shelter ;  the  last  loaf  they  are  willing  to  divide  with  those  more 
needy  than  themselves,  remembering  these  words,  Do  good  as 


140  APPENDIX. 

we  have  opportunity  ;  and  we  can  always  find  opportunity,  if  we 
have  the  disposition. 

And  now  I  would  say,  I  hope  those  who  call  themselves 
friends  of  our  dark-skinned  brethren,  will  lend  a  helping  hand, 
and  assist  our  sister,  not  in  giving,  but  in  buying  a  book ;  the 
expense  is  trifling,  and  the  reward  of  doing  good  is  great.  Our 
duty  is  to  our  fellow-beings,  and  when  we  let  an  opportunity 
pass,  we  know  not  what  we  lose.  Therefore  we  should  do  with  all 
our  might  what  our  hands  find  to  do  ;  and  remember  the  words 
of  Him  who  went  about  doing  good,  that  inasmuch  as  ye  have 
done  a  good  deed  to  one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye 
have  done  it  to  me  ;  and  even  a  cup  of  water  is  not  forgot 
ten.  Therefore,  let  us  work  while  the  day  lasts,  and  we  shall  in 
no  wise  lose  our  reward. 

MARGARETTA  THORN. 


MILFORD,  JULY  20th,  1859. 

Feeling  a  deep  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  writer  of  this 
book,  and  hoping  that  its  circulation  will  be  extensive,  I  wish  to 
say  a  few  words  in  her  behalf.  I  have  been  acquainted  with  her 
for  several  years,  and  have  always  found  her  worthy  the  esteem 
of  all  friends  of  humanity ;  one  whose  soul  is  alive  to  the  work 
to  which  she  puts  her  hand.  Although  her  complexion  is  a  lit 
tle  darker  than  my  own,  I  esteem  it  a  privilege  to  associate  with 
her,  and  assist  her  whenever  an  opportunity  presents  itself.  It  is 
with  this  motive  that  I  write  these  few  lines,  knowing  this  book 
must  be  interesting  to  all  who  have  any  knowledge  of  the  wri 
ter's  character,  or  wish  to  have.  I  hope  no  one  will  refuse  to 
aid  her  in  her  work,  as  she  is  worthy  the  sympathy  of  all  Chris 
tians,  and  those  who  have  a  spark  of  humanity  in  their  breasts. 

Thinking  it  unnecessary  for  me  to  write  a  long  epistle,  I  will 
close  by  bidding  her  God  speed.  C.  D.  S. 


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